


Ain't This Life So Sweet

by Ride4812



Series: Waiting On My Own Too Long [5]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-07
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-12 06:54:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 60,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29256291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ride4812/pseuds/Ride4812
Relationships: Ian Gallagher & Mickey Milkovich, Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich
Series: Waiting On My Own Too Long [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2146308
Comments: 2
Kudos: 49





	1. Chapter 1

Chapter One: On the Eve

Mickey had naively believed that on the eve of their second anniversary he would be sharing his bed  
exclusively with Ian. As it turned out, he had no such luck.

When they were teenagers, Mickey had felt compelled to keep Ian at arm’s length, worried that if he  
let himself tumble into tenderness, he’d end up in too deep to claw his way out. Unfortunately, he  
learned how right he was in prison. Eight years of sharing his bed with only a scratchy blanket had  
proven to him that he was ruined. Regardless of how much time passed, Mickey would always crave  
the way Ian’s body contoured to his, the rhythm of his breaths, the warmth of his skin. Sixteen years  
before, he didn’t realize the freckle-faced boy would be his forever, but he did know that somehow,  
everything had felt right in Ian’s scrawny arms. Reaching over to give his husband’s bicep a gentle  
squeeze, he grinned, he wasn’t scrawny anymore.  
“Hey,” he whispered in a tone loud enough to be considered a raspy exclamation. “I wanna fuck.”

“What time is it?” Ian croaked, pressing his fingers into his eye sockets and yawning.

“Time to get the fuck in me,” Mickey replied, kicking the comforter off him and grabbing for the  
lube on the nightstand. “C’mon.”

“Shh,” Ian hissed, doing a crunch to smack his husband on the arm. “Shhh! Grumpy’s sleeping. He’s  
had a hard day.”

“He’s had a hard day,” Mickey repeated slowly, looking over the lazy lump of a dog that was  
sharing Ian’s pillow.

“I’m serious. I took him for a run. We made it almost a half a mile before he started wheezing, which  
is progress, Mick. Remember I told you he could barely do a couple of blocks a few weeks ago. The  
training regimen is going well, but he’s so out of shape, it’s just going to take some time, you  
know?” He nuzzled his nose against the sleeping mutt’s. “But I’m patient with him. He needs  
patience.”

“I need some too,” Mickey muttered, glancing up at the ceiling. If he was a praying man, he would  
have requested more of the virtue, but alas, he was not.

“He’s working really hard.”

“He still looks fat to me,” he pointed out, earning another smack from Ian. “What?”

“It’s going to take some time,” Ian chided. “The vet said dogs his age have really slow metabolisms.  
It makes sense. I mean, he was big when we got him, but he’s gotten chunkier with time. It’s not his  
fault.”

“He’s let himself go,” Mickey tsked, dodging the hit he knew was coming. “Seriously, as soon as we  
brought him home this motherfucker stopped caring about his figure. Am I right?”

“You’re an asshole,” Ian stated, matter-of-factly.

“Speaking of assholes, how about you fuck mine?”

“Go to Yev’s room. I’ll be there in a minute,” Ian directed, stretching his arms over his head and  
letting out a moan.

“I’m not fucking in my kid’s bed.”

“He’s not here.”

“Walk this tub of lard in there then,” Mickey spat, gesturing to the now stirring dog. “He shits,  
doesn’t wipe his ass, and then sleeps with us. It’s gross.”

“He loves us. We’re all he has.”

“You know why nobody on the South Side has dogs, Annie? Because we’re all trying to take care  
of ourselves and we don’t got time to take care of cockblocking, overweight mutts.”

“You’re so jealous of him,” Ian admonished, trying not to grin as Mickey climbed on top of him.

“Push him over so I can get in front of you, alright? Just rock me out and then I’ll shut the fuck up  
and let you two have the rest of the night together.”

“I want to enjoy the night with you,” Ian crooned, grasping handfuls of Mickey’s ass and pulling him  
in closer.

They kissed hungrily, as if it was days, not hours, since they last tasted each other’s lips. Sometimes  
as they made out, Mickey allowed his mind to float back to first time he’d ever kissed Ian, recalling  
how his heart had pounded with anticipation, how he’d second guessed his decision until the  
moment he’d leaned over the driver’s seat to press their lips together. As soon as he’d taken that leap,  
he’d finally felt at peace, like everything was settled even though the turbulence had just begun. That  
feeling of stability hadn’t waned over the years, but got stronger the more they’d promised each other  
and had actually fulfilled. It felt like lifetimes since their not so innocent adolescence, but he still saw  
Ian as that painfully idealistic, driven and ambitious, corny joke telling kid that he’d fallen profoundly  
in love with in the alleys and dugouts of their youth.

“I love you,” Mickey breathed, placing his palms on either side of Ian’s face as he gazed into tired  
green eyes.

Overwhelmed by his emotions, Mickey was glad when Ian gently pushed him off so he was lying on  
his side and curled his body around him. Ian rested his lips on Mickey’s shoulder as he fumbled with  
the lube. The only thing better than being spooned, was being spooned while getting fingered by deft  
digits and the moans escaping Mickey’s mouth made sure that Ian knew his views on the matter.

“I love you, too,” Ian promised, craning his neck to slot their mouths together as he continued to  
work him open. Resting his free hand on the tattoo above Mickey’s heart, Ian hummed his  
appreciation at the husky grunts coming from his lover. Knowing Mickey’s body as well as his own,  
Ian removed his fingers and used his hand to line the head of his cock against his husband’s entry.  
The pressure of the rock hard dick inching into him had Mickey’s body shuddering and then relaxing  
as Ian bottomed out. The redhead remained still for a moment, allowing Mickey to relish in the  
familiar feeling of being full. Their bodies moved in unison, rolling and swaying as fingers interlaced  
and legs entwined, melting together.

Throwing his head back to rest the crown on Ian’s chest, Mickey closed his eyes, so focused on the  
pleasure point his man was hitting inside him that he almost missed the strange whining sound that  
was filling the otherwise quiet room. “What the fuck?” he demanded, snapping his neck around in an  
attempt to look at Ian, who had already pulled out.

“We woke him,” Ian said, scratching an exhausted looking pooch behind his ears. “Sorry Grumpy  
Mickey.”

“Are you talking to me or him? Because I’m feeling pretty cranky right about now.”

“Your name isn’t Grumpy Mickey, is it Mikhailo?” Ian adjusted his dick and yelped an ‘ouch’ when  
Mickey gave him a hard spank on the ass. “Hey, baby. Why don’t you scoot over a little, okay?” he  
crooned, attempting to move the dog toward the edge of the bed. “Your daddies are busy having sex,  
but we’ll be done soon.”

“I wasn’t even close,” Mickey corrected, “Don’t lie to the fucker.” He leaned over to look Grumpy  
in his unimpressed blue eyes. “We’re going to be a while, alright? You need to go chew on a bone or  
something so we can bone. Got it? You can come back in and sleep in your bed,” he pointed at the  
abandoned dog bed in the corner, “when we’re done.”

Unsure if he imagine it, Mickey could swear that the dog lifted his eyebrows in challenge.

“Grumps, is Yevvy here?” Ian asked, dropping his jaw excitedly. “Did you hear him? Is that  
Yevvy?”

The hebetudinous hound, mustered the energy to jump up and jog out of the bedroom to look for his  
favorite Milkovich. Not wasting a moment, Ian locked the door behind him and gave Mickey a  
mischievous grin as he climbed back into bed.

“You’re such a liar,” Mickey laughed, looping his arms around Ian’s neck as the redhead positioned  
himself on top of him.

“I didn’t lie,” he smirked, “I asked him if it was Yevvy. I didn’t say that it was Yevvy.”

“I’m not complaining. Dude’s narcoleptic. He probably fell asleep on the way down the stairs.”

“Poor guy,” Ian pouted, as he pushed back into Mickey.

“You’re really broken up about it,” Mickey teased, wrapping his legs around Ian’s waist as he started  
to fuck him slowly.

“I’ll go find him after I get you off,” he reasoned, leaning down to kiss the brunet while gradually  
picking up the pace of his thrusts. “You feel so good,” he sighed pressing his forehead against  
Mickey’s as he sunk in deeper. The soft screwing of moments before gave way to a headboard  
shaking, Earth shattering, fervent fucking.

“Get it,” Mickey mewled, his voice reverberating with the motion. “You're so goddamn thick, man,”  
he cried, biting his lip as Ian pounded away.

“Fuck.”

“You love when I stretch you out,” Ian grunted, forcefully slamming into Mickey over and over  
again. “You fucking love this big dick, don’t you Mick? You fucking love it.”

“Yes. I fucking love it, yes,” he chanted as Ian grabbed around his neck and shifted his pace, rolling  
his hips to deliver long, hard strokes straight to his prostate.

“I fucking love you,” Ian sighed. “Can you believe it’s been two years tomorrow? Our wedding feels  
like yesterday.”

“I love you too,” Mickey moaned, his body shaking from the pleasure.

“Doesn’t it feel like yesterday? The park? The Carlton? Champagne? The jacuzzi?” He started to  
laugh. “You gave me so much shit about that.”

“I remember,” Mickey grunted. “Focus on the fucking, alright?”

“I’m reminiscing,” he protested, struggling to keep his rhythm. “It was the happiest day of my life. I  
love reliving it. Don’t you?” He groaned when Mickey tightened his muscles around him.

“Of course I do. We can talk about it all night if you want to, okay baby? Just finish me off.” He  
smiled when Ian got back to business. “Yeah, just like that.”

Dropping his hand down to jerk his cock, Mickey bit his lip while his husband concentrated on  
fucking him over the edge. The redhead wasn’t far behind, emptying into his ass with a cry.

“Mmm,” Ian crooned, collapsing onto Mickey’s sticky chest and holding him tightly.

“Yeah, mmm,” Mickey agreed, kissing his head.

“You were always a grade-A fucker, but I swear you’re getting better with age, man.”

“You’re lucky that you vowed to get old with me then. Imagine how good I’m gonna be at ninety.”

Mickey chuckled while running his fingers through damp red hair. “You’ll probably break your hip  
trying to give it to me hard.”

“That’s how I’d like to go out. Making a valiant effort to get you off.” Ian lifted his head and smiled  
wide. “And I want you to put it in my obituary: ‘Ian died doing what he loved the most -his  
husband.’”

“Don’t talk like that,” Mickey chided, tussling the other man’s hair. “Aren’t we supposed to be  
talking about other shit anyway?”

“What other shit?”

“Our wedding night or whatever.”

“Yeah,” he grinned, clearly happy Mickey brought it back up.

“Do you wanna go get Grumpy before or after?”

“He’s not complaining,” Ian decided, shimmying so he was beside Mickey, holding him close.  
“Let’s start at the Bachelor party, you were shocked....”

“I was,” Mickey agreed, pecking his husband’s lips.

“It was an awesome surprise.”

“Your face lit up.”

“Doesn’t it always when I look at your goofy face, Gallagher?”

“Milkovich,” Ian corrected.

“Doesn’t it always when I look at your goofy face, Milkovich?”

It always did.

Chapter Two: Glorious Glutes

Ian couldn’t help but be frustrated that for the second year in a row, he and Mickey weren’t able to  
spend their anniversary together. The fourteenth falling on a Friday ensured that Ian’s day was jam  
packed with clients and Mickey’s night was booked with a society dinner at the Field Museum of  
Natural History. The catering company was busier than ever, and as much as Ian had hated working  
at FIG, he missed the stolen kisses and fleeting touches with Mickey in the kitchens of convention  
centers. The opportunity for that type of connection throughout a shift was something that their  
separate work environments squandered, and fuck if he didn’t regret leaving sometimes.

Still, Ian loved his job. He had always known that he wanted to have a career in which he could help  
people, but after the army and emergency medical services imploded, he wasn’t sure he would ever  
find one. While he helped lonely old dudes get off as a stripper, that wasn’t as fulfilling to him as it  
had been for them. The opportunity to get into personal training had been serendipitous for Ian and  
had finally allowed him to feel like he was doing what he was meant to do all along. Not only did  
training allow him to change his clients’ lives for the better, he also felt it kept him on the right path.  
He refrained from having a drink here or there, barely craved cocaine, and never missed a dose of his  
medication. He was driven to be a model of exemplary health, and he was. Ian took care of his body  
as well as he took care of Mickey’s, exceptionally well indeed.

“Hey Ian,” Sage greeted from behind the glass welcome desk. “How’s it going?”

“Great,” he smiled, leaning on the counter. “How are you? Escaping from child care for the day?”

“Yup. Mac challenged my sanity to an alarming extent yesterday and I told my dad if he didn’t throw  
me on the desk, I would throw myself off the L.”

“We wouldn’t want that.”

“Nope. Who would keep this place running?” she questioned with a mischievous grin.

“I’m going to tell Robert you said that,” Ian warned playfully. “I think he’s still under the illusion  
he’s in charge.”

“Delusion,” Sage corrected. “The moment my dads brought me home from the hospital they forfeited  
all power.” She held up her pinky. “It’s all right here now.”

“That’s a mighty finger right there.”

“You know it.” She nodded. “You have a packed day beginning with a new client at 9:00am and  
she is quite the VIP.”

“Oh yeah?”

Sage nodded. “Do you watch Channel 4 Action News?”

“Nope.”

“Well, Connie Cotania, who just so happens to be the top investigative reporter in the Midwest and  
the face of Action News will now be entrusting her glorious glutes to you.”

“Glorious glutes?” Ian repeated. “Is that her thing?”

“If it isn’t, it should be,” Sage shrugged. “The girl’s got it going on.”

“Sounds like she should make my job pretty easy.” He reached over the counter to grab a pen and  
slid it behind his ear. “I’m gonna go drop my bag in the back and prepare myself mentally for the  
glorious glutes.”

“Mickey’s gonna be jealous,” she tsked.

“I promise you, no matter how glorious those glutes are, she’s got nothing on Mickey. He’s...” Ian  
closed his eyes for a moment and when he opened them Sage was beaming at him.

“He’s what?” She prompted with a knowing grin. “Goddamn, you two are the cutest, I swear. You  
look at him like he has the sun, moon and stars all trapped in those sky blue eyes. After all these  
years you’re still so in awe of him. It’s inspiring. I want that,” she whined. “I want a Mickey.”

“There’s only one and even though he does have a thing for redheads, he’s gay as fuck,” Ian teased.

“All the good ones are,” she pouted. “I’m dreading Sammy and Tim’s wedding. The whole room is  
going to be filled with gorgeous guys who want nothing to do with me.”

“They don’t have any straight friends?” Ian asked skeptically. “I find that hard to believe..”

“Do you?” she challenged, pale eyebrows raised.

“Yeah. You, Mandy, Olivia, Selena, Grace, maybe Svetlana on a good day. Lip. Kev. I wouldn’t  
count Iggy...”

“Those are women or your family members,” Sage pointed out. “I should have said straight male  
friends not related to you.”

“I’m not related to Kev.”

“But you are,” she huffed. “You’re, like, South Side related or whatever.”

“Is that a thing you know about Little Miss Lakeshore?” Ian questioned with a smirk. “Last I  
checked you rarely ventured down to Chi-raq.”

“I come to your house,” she reminded him. “I’ve come every time you’ve invited me.”

“You always come in an uber.”

“Does that not count?” She laughed. “I have to take the L for it to be legit?”

“L is for legit,” Ian confirmed. “Alright. I’ll be back.” He patted Sage’s hand before heading to the  
employee locker room. Pulling out his phone before he locked it up, he shot a text off to Mickey.

Ian (8:46am): Have U ever heard of Connie on Action News?  
Mickey (8:47am): What?  
Ian (8:47am): She’s a newscaster.  
Mickey (8:47am): So?  
Ian (8:48am): U ever heard of her?  
Mickey (8:48am): No  
Ian (8:48am): She’s my new client.  
Mickey (8:49am): Ok  
Ian (8:49am): Sage told me she has a glorious ass. She’s known for it I guess.  
Mickey (8:50am): Is that right?  
Ian (8:50am): Yup. It got me thinking about something.  
Mickey (8:51am): Her ass did?  
Ian (8:51am): do people still compliment ur ass?  
Mickey (8:52am): I’m tired and ur asking me stupid fucking questions >:O  
Ian (8:53am): Are U trying to pretend that ur ass doesn’t get a lot of attention? I’m just wondering if  
it’s less now that U got a ring on ur finger.  
Mickey (8:54am): Nobody that’s commenting on strangers asses gives a shit about a ring...  
Ian (8:54am): WTF  
Mickey (8:55am): U asked monkey  
Ian (8:55am): if anyone says anything u should start telling them that I train U. It would be good for  
business. Ur ass can be my brand.  
Mickey (8:55am): False advertising. U don’t train me.  
Ian (8:56am): The fuck I don’t! I’ve been training that ass for YEARS.  
Mickey (8:56am): U been fucking it but that’s it. Hate working out with u  
Ian (8:56am): It’s our anniversary, asshole  
Mickey (8:57am): don’t mean I’m gonna lie  
Ian (8:57am): I gtg we aren’t done with our negotiations.  
Mickey (8:58am): What R we negotiating?  
Ian (8:58am): Ur ass being my advertisement.  
Mickey (8:59am): fuck off  
Ian (8:59am): ILY & I own ur ass  
Mickey (8:59am): ILY2 & go fuck urself

Ian tossed his phone into his locker and hurried back out to the front desk where he saw a petite  
brunette wearing fashionable workout gear waiting for him.

“Ms. Cotania?” he asked as he approached. She nodded as he shook her hand. “Ian Milkovich. Nice  
to meet you.”

“You can call me Connie,” she said warmly.

“Connie,” he grinned. “Let’s go sit down and talk about some goals.” He plucked her file containing  
an empty fitness profile out of the paper sorter and gestured for Connie to follow him back to the  
training desk.

“Is this when you make me get on the scale?” she asked, gesturing to the BC-418 body composition  
analyzer beside them..

“We can talk first, but yeah,” Ian answered. “It’s coming. So are these.” He held up a pair of  
calipers.. “You look like you’re in great shape, though. Don’t worry too much about what my stuff  
says. It’s more about how you feel.” He paused. “So, how do you feel?”

“I like you already,” she decided.

“I like you, too..”

Ian noticed that she very discreetly glanced at his ring finger and frowned.

“Today’s our anniversary,” he blurted, silently chiding his mouth for saying anything his brain put  
into it. “We’ve been married for two years.”

“You caught me peeking,” Connie groaned, her tan cheeks flushing red.

“Oh no, I just...” he began, laughing awkwardly and admitting, “yeah.”

“Some investigative journalist I am,” she sighed with a shy smile. “I can’t even slyly check for a  
ring.”

“In all fairness, I just look for any opportunity to talk about him,” Ian assured her, “and because it’s  
our anniversary, you know, I had a chance.”

“Mickey?” she asked, pointing at the name scrolled on his collarbone.

“See you’ve still got it,” he smiled. “Yeah. It’s Mickey.”

“You say his name like it’s your favorite song,” Connie told him. “It’s sweet.”

Ian licked the grin off his lips and nodded. “So, tell me about you. What made you decide to work  
with a trainer?”

“Honestly, I’m stuck in a rut. I go from the elliptical to yoga class and I feel uninspired by  
everything. My routine is easy. I’m not challenged and I’m becoming complacent, which I can’t  
afford to be. It’s true that the camera adds ten pounds and so do the chocolate croissants I’ve been  
eating every morning for the last month.”

“The last month,” Ian noted, jotting down a few of the important points. “What changed?”

“Hmm?”

“You said you’ve been eating them for me last month? What happened the month before?”

“Oh. I called off my engagement,” she said, biting her lower lip. She narrowed her eyes. “You  
caught that fast.”

Ian was glad that he was able to bite his tongue and not tell her why. He’d spent enough time in  
therapy to know how to shrink someone. “That must’ve been tough,” he said sympathetically,  
knowing damn well it was.

“It wasn’t easy,” Connie admitted, “but I’m ready to put the past where it belongs and move  
forward.”

“Well, you’ve come to the right place,” Ian assured her. “I think you’re future will be bright.”

“How do you figure that, Ian Milkovich?”

“Because you want it to be. That’s the biggest challenge, not being afraid to step into the flames of  
what sets you on fire. What does that for you? Fans those flame?”

“Freedom,” she responded. “I think it’s freedom.”

“Here’s to your freedom then,” he said tapping his pen against the side of her S’well bottle. “Now  
let’s get some measurements.”

“Aw, man! I thought if I spilled my guts enough you would forget about those pesky  
measurements.”

“Not likely,” Ian grinned. “I got a memory like a steel trap.”

“Your poor husband,” Connie teased. “Does he catch hell for things he’s done in the past?”

Ian shook his head more solemnly than he intended to. “Nah, our past is...” he paused, searching for  
the right word, “complicated. We both work pretty hard to forget about a lot of it.”

“But you’ve got that steel trap,” she said softly, standing up as he held up his measuring tape. “How  
does that work out?”

He shrugged. “In the end, I guess it’s better that I can’t forget anyway. So I don’t repeat the same  
mistakes again.” He waved his hand as if shooing away the statement. “You have me talking too  
much.”

“Distraction technique,” Connie teased. “If we’re talking about you, we’re not talking about me. You  
know, we should just gossip about other people.”

“That sounds good,” Ian laughed, as he recorded her measurements. “Got any dirt on anyone in  
here?”

“I do!” she exclaimed. “See that guy lifting weights in the orange tank?”

Ian nodded.

“He’s the ex-police chief. Supposedly, he was caught in quite the compromising position.”

“Oh yeah?” Ian asked, his interest piqued.

As he listened to the rest of Connie’s story, he came to the realization that perhaps Sage was right, he  
liked being friends with women. He made a mental note to call Mandy on his way home from work  
and tell her she was due for a visit. After all, his “ex-girlfriend” turned best friend and then sister-in-law   
had always been his favorite. He missed her and planned to give her shit until she got her ass to  
Chicago. Luckily, Mandy was still a sucker for his charm. Somehow, Ian was the Milkovich  
whisperer and he couldn’t have been happier about the unique skill.

His people.

Chapter Three: Throw Me a Bone...er

As much as Mickey had enjoyed watching Yevgeny play baseball when he’d first gotten into the  
sport, he had to admit that his son’s middle grade community league games were far and away more  
captivating than his elementary matchups had ever been. When Mickey had suggested that Yevgeny  
try the sport, he hadn’t expected the kid to take to it the way he had. Yevgeny had a natural talent  
that was fostered by consistent coaches and regular practices. He was so obsessed with the game that  
he’d gone straight from his school’s spring season into the South Side summer league, eagerly.  
Mickey couldn’t imagine having been so committed to sports back when he was twelve. Growing  
up, his sole devotion had been to hustling, the only way he’d survived his destitute childhood. He felt  
an overwhelming sense of pride that he’d been able to provide his son with the opportunity to  
participate in the activities he wanted to.

Watching Yevgeny go from baby to toddler to kid from behind a glass wall had made Mickey feel  
disconnected and helpless. There was nothing that could be done to eradicate the guilt he held for  
missing so many milestones of his son’s younger years, but ensuring he could say ‘yes’ to Yevgeny’s  
requests had exponentially decreased the pervasive pangs of pain.

“You did good,” Mickey told Yevgeny as his son made his way to the bleachers. He rose to his feet  
and handed him a Gatorade and a bag of Doritos, that the kid quickly tore into.

“I screwed up with that fly ball. The sun got in my eyes and I couldn’t see it,” he said with a mouth  
full of chips, “It should’ve been an easy grab.”

“Yeah, well, it’s alright. You guys won, so you’re onto the next round, right? It doesn’t matter.”  
Mickey said as they walked off the field. “Do you need to get that paint shit guys wear on their faces  
to help with that?”

“I dunno,” Yevgeny shrugged, “maybe.”

“I’m working tonight, but I can text Ian and tell him to pick some up so you have it for tomorrow if  
you want.”

“That’s good. Thanks.”

“This way,” Mickey gestured to Yevgeny who had begun to head in the direction of the L. “I’m  
taking you to your mom’s.”

“I’m supposed to stay with you guys this weekend.”

“I know, but Ian’s at the gym until 7:00pm and I gotta be at work at 4:00pm. He’ll text your mom  
when he gets home and she’ll bring you over.”

“I can be on my own for three hours,” Yevgeny reasoned. “I’m twelve. You were probably allowed  
to stay by yourself at twelve.” Unmoving, he crossed his arms over his chest and stared down  
Mickey, who sighed as he lit a cigarette. “Mom, Kev and V leave us home by ourselves all the time.”

“First of all, nobody gave a shit about me. You got five adults who care about your goofy ass and  
two outta the five of them don’t think you’re ready to be on your own in their shitty neighborhood.”

“You think your place is in a rougher area than mom’s?” Yevgeny laughed. “Mr. and Mrs. Granger  
have a garden in front of their house. A garden, Dad,” he emphasized. “Are you and Ian worried I’m  
going to get attacked by killer tomatoes?”

“A kid was shot on Euclid last weekend, Yev, by a motherfucker with a gun, not a cucumber with a  
vendetta.”

“That kid ran drugs. I don’t mess with any of that stuff. I’d hang out with Grumpy and play video  
games with Dmitri.”

“Ohhh,” Mickey nodded with a sniff. “Now, Dmitri’s coming over?”

“What’s wrong with Dmitri?”

“He reminds me of me at your age and I don’t want you hanging out with anyone who is anything  
like I was.” Mickey took a drag of his cigarette and raised his eyebrows. “Are we just gonna stand  
here or what Yevgeny? C’mon.” He turned to walk toward Svetlana’s house but paused and turned  
back after he realized his son wasn’t coming along. “Seriously?”

“Give me a shot, alright? How about I invite Jeremy instead of Dmitri? Jeremy doesn’t even wanna  
take a piss at your house without asking permission.”

“He’s a fucking nerd,” Mickey tsked, spitting on the sidewalk and smearing the loogie into the  
pavement with his sneaker. He let out an exasperated sigh as he closed the space between himself to  
Yevgeny. “If I let you do this, you can’t fuck around and leave the house. You gotta keep the door  
locked and lay low.”

“I’ll just chill,” Yevgeny promised with a smile. “What about opening the door for Jeremy, though?  
If he’s coming over I have to unlock the door.”

“Have him come over before I leave for work.”

“I’ll see if he can,” the boy said excitedly, pulling his phone out of his bag.

“You gonna feel alright about being my yourself if he can’t?” Mickey questioned, fully aware that  
his kid was too proud to say ‘no’ even if he was nervous about it.

“I’m twelve,” Yevgeny iterated slowly. “I’m not afraid to be home alone. Were you when you were  
twelve?”

Mickey didn’t find it necessary to tell Yevgeny that he’d been afraid to be home at all. “Nah.” He  
stomped out his cigarette as they entered the station and picked up his pace when he saw the train  
approaching the platform.

“Can you do me a favor though?” Yevgeny began as they slid into their seats. He asked ‘what?’  
when he noticed the look of dismay his request earned from his father.

“I’m already doing you a favor.”

“Well, this isn’t a big deal.”

“What is it?”

“Are you going to tell Ian that Jeremy’s gonna be over?”

“Yeah, he’ll probably bring dinner home for you guys... why?”

Yevgeny licked his lips as if he was pondering if he should continue the conversation.

“What?” Mickey prodded. “Spit it out.”

“Can you ask him not to walk around in his boxers?”

“He doesn’t walk around in his boxers.”

“Well, he doesn’t usually but last time Jeremy was over Ian was doing laundry in his boxer briefs  
and a beater.”

“People wear less to the beach, man,” Mickey stated, narrowing his eyes at his son. “What’s the  
problem?”

“It’s just that Jer was uncomfortable,” Yevgeny sighed.

“Are you telling me this so I’ll tell you to ask Dmitri to come over tonight instead?”

“No, no,” he insisted emphatically. “It’s not, like, a bad thing. It’s more that he...” Yevgeny paused.

“I guess he felt okay telling me this because, you know, you’re gay, but he felt uncomfortable  
because he got turned on or something, got wood I guess.”

“Uh, wow,” Mickey pressed his knuckles into his eye sockets as he nodded his head. “That’s, um,  
not what I was expecting.”

“Mom told me not to tell Ian because it will go to his...” he cleared his throat and did his best  
impression of Svetlana, “big orange head.”

“Ian’s had people throwing themselves at him since he sprouted his first pube.”

“Like Aunt Mandy, huh?” Yevgeny chuckled.

Mickey nodded. “Believe me, he’s not gonna get cocky over some horny little fucker jacking off to  
him.”

Yevgeny cringed. “That’s not something I want to think about.”

“You brought it up,” he said with a click of his tongue. “How do you feel about it?”

“About Jeremy being gay?”

“Did he say he was gay?” Mickey asked, looking around the car to make sure nobody was listening  
in to their conversation.

“No, but got hard because of Ian so he is, right?”

“Nah. I mean, he could be, but boys your age get hard over everything. A guy can be into guys and  
into girls too, so unless he told you he’s gay, don’t call him that.”

“Sorry,” Yevgeny said, his cheeks flushing pink.

“It’s alright,” Mickey assured him, resting his hand on his son’s shoulder. “It’s not like being gay’s a  
bad thing or whatever. It just might not be his thing.”

“You say you’re gay but you kinda aren’t.”

“How do you figure that?” Mickey asked, puzzled by the statement.

“You had sex with women, so that would make you bi or something instead of gay, wouldn’t it?”

“Remember how a few years ago we talked about what happened with your mom and me? How it  
wasn’t by choice for me...”

“Yeah, but you also said you were with other women...”

“I was only with them to try to convince myself that I wasn’t gay. Your dick doesn’t define your  
orientation. It doesn’t matter who it gets hard for or why,” Mickey explained, wondering why the  
fuck he told Yevgeny he couldn’t have Dmitri over. Of course the kid was a shit, but Mickey  
would’ve been very happy to have never had to have the conversation he was in the midst of.  
The boy nodded his understanding and lowered his voice, leaning in close to his father. “A guy’s  
never given me a boner before.”

Mickey chuckled and bit his lip. “Okay, and girls have?”

“A few of them,” Yevgeny admitted, his face turning a deeper shade of crimson.

Though he remembered being Yevgeny’s age and was well aware of how puberty worked, Mickey  
had a hard time formulating a response to the confession. When he looked at his son, he still saw the  
fat little cherub Svetlana lugged into the prison visitor’s room. “Don’t stick it in any of them and if  
you do make sure it’s got a condom on it.”

Yevgeny’s eyes grew wide and he quickly turned his attention to the city blurring beyond the  
window.

Deciding if he had to feel awkward as hell he’d make Ian suffer too, Mickey pulled out his phone.

Mickey (2:43pm): U around?  
Ian (2:51pm): Am now  
Mickey (2:51pm): Yev’s having Jeremy over and they’ll be alone at the house from the time I leave  
for work until u get home.  
Ian (2:52pm): WOW  
Mickey (2:52pm): Don’t make a big deal about it. I already feel weird.  
Ian (2:53pm): He’ll be fine.  
Mickey (2:53pm): Whatever. Can u text him on ur way home from work and ask what they want to  
eat?  
Ian (2:53pm): Yeah  
Mickey (2:54pm): He also mentioned he needs that shit that athletes put on their faces to cut down on  
the glare from the sun. U got that in the gym?  
Ian (2:55pm): I can check the store. If we don’t I can get it from Dick’s on my way home.  
Mickey (2:56pm): Who names a store Dick’s?  
Ian (2:56pm): a guy named Dick???  
Mickey (2:57pm): Who names their kid Dick?  
Ian (2:58pm): Is this u opening the discussion about kids again...  
Mickey (2:58pm): Nice try. Speaking of kids, Yev asked me to ask U not to wear ur boxers and a  
beater around the house 2night  
Ian (2:59pm): Do I do that when he’s around?!  
Mickey (2:59pm): sometimes I guess. Jeremy got hard last time he was over and it fucked him up.  
Ian (3:00pm): fucked up Yev and Jeremy?  
Mickey (3:01pm): Jeremy. Yev doesn’t give a shit.  
Ian (3:01pm): Poor kid. I’ll try to tone down my extreme sex appeal 2night. It’s gonna be a challenge  
but I think I can handle it.  
Mickey (3:02pm): Know What I cant handle? Ur dumbass.  
Ian (3:02pm): But u love trying.

Mickey rolled his eyes at the response, but he knew it was true. Ian was a handful, but he was his,  
and he’d never stop trying.

Chapter Four: Like Father Like Sons

When Ian got home from work, he found two very hungry preteens waiting for him in the kitchen,  
clearly anticipating his arrival. Though he would have preferred to spend their anniversary evening  
with his husband, Ian was glad it was their weekend with Yev, and he didn’t have to eat alone. Their  
incompatible schedules meant they both spent a fair amount of time by themselves. While Mickey  
didn’t mind the solitude, having become accustomed to loneliness during his incarceration, Ian found  
it maddening.

Growing up a Gallagher, he was used to being surrounded by chaos. His quiet life with Mickey was  
just that, and while he loved it, he found that the times they were apart were more difficult than he’d  
expected. He’d been alone often when he was living with Theo, but he’d never ached for his ex the  
way he did for Mickey. Ian had also kept the company of cocaine which blurred the continuum of  
time, allowing him to float in and out of reality whenever he felt it necessary. Licking the interior of  
his lips, he shook his head, reminding himself that the powder enchantress would do nothing but  
fuck up everything he’d worked for, including his relationship with the only person who could tether  
him to the ground when he felt like he was compelled to float away.

“Mmm Lou Malnati’s!” Yev exclaimed, taking the boxes from Ian’s hands. “Thanks.”

“No problem,” Ian grinned, watching the two boys dig in.

“Thank you,” Jeremy said, his mouth already full of pizza.

If Mickey hadn’t told him about Jeremy’s interest, Ian wouldn’t have noticed the way the kid could  
barely look him in the eyes.

It was difficult for Ian to imagine what it would’ve been like to question his sexuality. For as long as  
he could remember, he’d known he was gay. For a while, he’d kept his homosexuality a secret, but  
even then, he’d already come to terms with what it meant and with who he was. The only positive  
thing about being raised by Frank and Monica was the fact that both had never given a shit about  
who he banged. They’d never flinched when they’d found out he was into guys, which after  
experiencing Terry’s reaction, was the biggest blessing the two narcissists had ever bestowed upon  
him.

Mickey’s path wasn’t as easy and he found himself hoping that Jeremy had parents who would be  
accepting of him if he turned out to truly be into men. The thought that he could suffer the way  
Mickey had made Ian’s eyes prickle with tears, which he forced back. He was glad for the distraction  
when Grumpy meandered into the room. “Hi baby,” he crooned, squatting so he could rub the big  
dog behind his ears. “How was your day?”

Grumpy lazily laid his chin on Ian’s thigh and sighed.

“That good, huh?” Ian laughed. He rose to his feet, wiping his hands on his shorts. “Heard you won  
today, Yev. Congratulations.”

“Yeah. I played kinda crappy though.”

“Your dad told me you did well.”

“He kinda has to say that,” Yevgeny answered. “He’s my dad.”

“You’d be surprised how much that whole father thing doesn’t matter to some people,” Jeremy  
remarked. “Take it from me, a lot of dads aren’t programmed that way. Mine included.”

“Mine too,” Ian said, instinctively resting his hand on Jeremy’s shoulder. He gave the kid a gentle  
squeeze before reaching for a slice of pizza. Glancing down at the pie, he laughed when he saw how  
many pieces were already gone. “Holy shit, you guys are destroying this thing.”

“I played two games today,” Yevgeny stated. “I’m not sure what your excuse is,” he teased  
elbowing Jeremy, “unless you worked up a really good sweat trying to beat me at Battlefront.”

“Did you win?” Ian asked Jeremy, raising his eyebrows.

“Nope. Yev’s impossible to beat.”

“Don’t I know it,” Ian agreed, grinning at his stepson, who was smiling proudly at his reputation.

It never failed to amaze Ian how often he saw Mickey in Yevgeny. While he knew that it was basic  
biology, he was still astonished that it could cause a father’s smile to spread across his son’s lips.

“Are you gonna have a slice?” Yevgeny asked.

“I’m gonna have two,” Ian said, sitting down at the small table with the boys, “and I’m gonna put a  
few in the fridge for your dad.”

“How many?” his stepson questioned, assessing how much was left. “I gotta feed these muscles.”

“A few,” Ian repeated with a laugh, squeezing the kid’s scrawny bicep. “They’re coming along,  
huh? When are you coming to CUT so I can work you out?”

“Last time you almost killed me,” Yevgeny tsked, turning to Jeremy. “Ian’s a beast. He can bench  
like... what now?”

“It’s so fucking douchey to tell people how much you can bench,” Ian chuckled, shaking his head.

“That’s why I’m telling.”

“240.”

“He can bench 240,” Yevgeny told Jeremy, who nodded his head and cleared his throat  
uncomfortably.

“That’s impressive,” the blond kid noted, shoving his pizza into his mouth. “So, it’s your guys’  
anniversary today?” he garbled.

“Yup.”

“How many years?”

“Two, but we’ve been together way longer than that,” Ian answered. For some reason, he always felt  
the need to reference their history. After all, he felt that they earned it. The missed years had been the  
worst mistake of his life, and though it was part of their history, he hated that they had ever been  
apart. “We started dating when we were a couple years older than you guys.”

“Dating?” Yevgeny scoffed, smirking. “That’s not what dad calls it.”

“We fell in love when we were a couple years older than you guys,” Ian amended, giving Yevgeny  
the finger. “Things were messed up for a while but we found our way back.”

“You know my dad was in prison, right?” Yevgeny asked Jeremy.

“Yev,” Ian warned. The older Yevgeny got, the more cool he found his father’s stint behind bars, a  
fact that worried all the adults in his life. It was far too easy to be pulled down the wrong path on the  
South Side, even for a good kid like Yevgeny.

“No shit?” Jeremy asked surprised. “Really?”

“Oh yeah,” Yevgeny nodded. “He did eight years.”

Ian sighed and took another bite of his pizza, wishing he wasn’t privy to the conversation that was  
unfurling in front of him. It wasn’t that he was ashamed that Mickey had done time, it was that he  
knew it was something his husband worked hard to put behind him.

“What did he do?” Jeremy asked cautiously, glancing at Ian, who was staring daggers into Yevgeny.

“He drugged Ian’s sister and she almost died.”

“On purpose?” Jeremy gasped.

“It wasn’t... his intention was never to kill her,” Ian began, shaking his head. “Yev, come on.” He  
looked directly at the blond boy, whose mouth was agape. “It was a mistake and he paid for it, okay?  
That’s all you have to know.”

Jeremy nodded his head and focused on his meal.

They ate quietly for a little while, until the tension eventually dissipated.

“Will he be home really late tonight?” Yevgeny asked as he walked over to the refrigerator to get  
them all another soda.

“Yeah,” Ian answered, wishing it wasn’t the case. While working in catering was far different than  
the job Ian used to have dancing at the Fairy Tale, the hours sucked just as badly. Still, he couldn’t  
have been prouder of Mickey. Management suited him and he was more confident than he had been  
in years. Mickey had told Ian that the fact that he had the ability to pay the mortgage on their house  
and provide for Yevgeny gave him a sense of self-worth that he’d struggled to find for a while. It  
was unfathomable to Ian that Mickey would ever doubt how amazing he was, since he was by far  
the best person he knew. Whenever he wanted to scoff at Mickey’s statements of doubt, he reminded  
himself that his husband had been through a lot of things that he couldn’t possibly understand and  
had navigated it all on his own. It made Ian’s stomach turn to think of abandoning Mickey, but he  
forced himself to acknowledge it, even when it would have been easier to try to forget about the  
pains of their past.

“That sucks,” Yevgeny noted. “They should have given him off for your anniversary.”

“Unfortunately, It was a big event and since he’s a manager, he had to be there. All hands on deck, I  
guess.”

“Is he on a boat?” Jeremy questioned.

“You know, for a smart guy you say dumb things sometimes,” Yevgeny stated.

“It’s a maritime phrase,” the blond defended.

“A what?” Yevgeny asked, raising his eyebrows.

“Never mind,” Jeremy laughed, polishing off his last bite of crust, much to Grumpy’s  
discontentment.

“You need to watch your weight, Grump Mickey,” Ian tsked. “No pizza for you.”  
The dog stared him down with anger in his big blue eyes.

“You can have some baby carrots,” Ian offered, making a move to get the vegetables from the  
refrigerator. By the time he turned back around, Grumpy was retreating to the couch to go to sleep.

“He really wanted some pizza,” Jeremy chuckled. “Poor guy. He seems really mad about it.”

“He’s always mad,” Yevgeny stated. “It’s part of his charm.”

“I love that charming little bastard,” Ian sighed, grinning in his dog’s direction.

“Are you talking about my dad or Grumpy?” his stepson joked, chuckling when Ian reached over to  
tickle him.

“I’m talking about you,” Ian teased, pinching Yevgeny’s blushing cheek.

“You gonna take your chances and challenge me to some Battlefront?”

“It’s not taking your chances when you have no chance,” Jeremy pointed out. “No offense...” he said  
quickly to Ian.

“None taken,” he assured the kid. “I’ll take you on, Yev,” Ian decided, standing up to place the box  
with the few pieces of leftover pizza into the refrigerator for Mickey. “I’m going to hit the shower  
and when I’m done you can beat my ass. How’s that sound?”

“It sounds like a Friday,” Yevgeny smirked.

“Pretty much,” Ian relented.

As he climbed the stairs with a very lethargic dog trailing behind him, Ian could help but smile.  
While he would have preferred to be spending his anniversary with Mickey, he was glad to be  
celebrating at home with their human and canine sons. He’d never felt so safe and settled in his life,  
and he had Mickey to thank. Because of him, they’d all somehow made it to that point, a feat that  
seemed nearly impossible a few years before.

Ian turned on the shower thinking of how much he missed Mickey and how it was easier to long for  
him when he knew he’d be seeing him soon.

Chapter Five: Anniversary of the Day After

Though Mickey liked his job, he couldn’t deny it was difficult on the body. By the end of a long  
shift his back and arms were shot and his feet were aching. It had been worse when he was a waiter,  
but he’d found managers still had to roll their sleeves up more often than he’d expected. The level of  
soreness never ceased to surprise him, after all, he was in damn good shape. Actually, he was pretty  
sure he was more fit than he’d ever been, save a few lost years early in his prison sentence. The  
perks of being married to a personal trainer who liked to fuck a lot was that Mickey worked out often  
and hard. Sometimes he’d idly wonder what their lives would be like if Ian had stayed at FIG. The  
Fairy Tail and CUT both required a certain level of aesthetic fitness, while the catering company did  
not. He laughed at the thought of them sitting around lazily eating pizza rolls, packing on happiness  
pounds. Regardless of whether his husband had to keep it trim or not, he knew it was always a  
priority to Ian.

Sometimes, he got lost in memories of their younger years, thinking back to the freckle-faced boy  
who pushed himself in hopes of Westpoint, a dream squandered by a cocktail of South Side poison.  
With military aspirations long gone, Mickey considered it may not have been only vanity and health  
compelling Ian to keep his body ripped and toned.

Regardless of how well Ian had been, Mickey never forgot the war his husband was forced to fight  
within. Every day Ian he took his medication at the same time, reflected on his behavior, took the  
temperature of his stability and every day, he was reminded his body wasn’t always his own. He  
shared his skin and bones with a disorder that sought to take over, poking and prodding for an  
opening. In spite of it, Ian made himself stronger, more able, perhaps hoping the mental would  
follow the physical, that in some strange way his discipline would keep his Bipolar in line. At times,  
Mickey thought maybe, in some ways, it did.

Creeping into his bedroom as a quarter part two in the morning, Mickey smiled at the sight of Ian  
snuggled under the covers, sleeping soundly, sans Grumpy. The best thing about the nights Yevgeny  
was home, minus the obvious, was the fact Grumpy fucked off to sleep with the kid. Mickey  
unbuttoned his black collared shirt as he admired the way the full moon filtered through their  
window, casting a silver glow on his husband. He looked like an angel, but Mickey knew his man  
was anything but. Ian was fearful and flawed, real and raw, everything Mickey was too. He had no  
idea what they’d done to be worthy of having what so many coveted, but he figured it had something  
to do with forgiveness, for themselves personally and from each other. The hardest, and the most  
worthwhile, thing Mickey had ever done was forgive Ian and forgive himself for doing so. He’d  
always known they were right, even when everything had felt wrong.

He walked into the bathroom to take a piss and brush his teeth before climbing into the bed beside  
his husband.

“Hey Milkovich,” Mickey whispered, giving Ian a sweet kiss. He smiled when he saw the redhead’s  
lips turn up in a grin. “It’s not our anniversary anymore.”

“You woke me up to tell me that?” Ian muttered, opening one eye so he could narrow it at Mickey.

“Nah, I woke you up to say ‘hi.’”

“Are you gonna say it?”

“Say what?” Mickey asked, his husband’s scrunched up nose.

“Hi.”

“I just did.”

“Say it better,” Ian prompted with mischievous smirk.

“I missed you,” Mickey crooned, looping an arm around Ian’s narrow waist and pulling him closer,  
laughing when Ian gave him a bear hug in return.

“Mmm,” Ian hummed, squeezing Mickey so tight it was nearly painful only to release before he had  
to complain. “I love you.”

Nuzzling his nose against his husband’s, Mickey closed his eyes for a moment, allowing himself to  
finally release the tension that had gathered in his shoulders throughout the night. He never realized  
how anxious he was until he got home. The pressure of making sure everything went seamlessly  
during the copious events he worked a week was immense. While there were various hiccups, he did  
a good job of managing them.

When he’d first began his career at FIG Mickey’d had a difficult time thinking of the people he  
served as anything more than entitled assholes. It was bizarre to him that they complained about  
trivial things, like the color of napkins or the temperature of the prime cuts of meat. Slowly, he  
realized the only way to survive and thrive at his job was to give a shit about the stupid shit they gave  
a shit about. Instead of grumbling about their first world expectations, as he would have years before,  
he started to hold himself to the standards they expected him to maintain. In doing so, he found a  
level of success he thought would be unachievable thanks to the scarlet “F” that would follow him  
around for the rest of his life: felon.

“How was tonight?” Ian asked, resting a big hand on Mickey’s cheek.

Leaning into it with a breathy sigh, Mickey replied, “I was gonna ask you the same thing.”

“I didn’t do anything, I just came home from work with some pizza for the boys and played video  
games for a couple hours.”

“Did you keep your clothes on?” Mickey teased, drawing a chuckling ‘fuck you’ from Ian. “Really  
though, did the kid act weird at all?”

“Not really,” Ian replied shaking his head. He licked his lips thoughtfully. “Have you met either of  
his parents?”

“Uh, uh. Why?”

“I don’t know. I think he’s got some issues with his dad, like maybe his old man’s not supportive or  
loving or whatever.”

“What South Side dad is?” Mickey scoffed.

“You,” Ian answered matter-of-factly. “I’d like to think me. I mean I know I fucked up, and I’m not  
really, you know, his dad, but I really try...” he continued, his voice trailing off.

“‘Course you are,” Mickey assured him with a nod. “You know you are.”

Mickey had thought Ian’s guilt regarding the years he’d missed with Yevgeny would diminish with  
time and effort, but it seemed it had gotten worse rather than better. Ian had explained it to him a few  
times, that the more he loved Yevgeny and watched him mature, the harder it was to imagine he’d  
had the capacity to disappear from his life when he was only an L ride away. Regardless of how  
many excuses Mickey tried to feed him, such as cocaine, Bipolar, and pain, Ian wouldn’t take them,  
always insisting he should have done better. Mickey’s promises of ‘you’re doing great now,’ were  
the only affirmations that seemed to resonate with his husband.

“I’m kinda worried about him,” Ian admitted, pulling away from Mickey so he could prop himself up  
and reach for his glass of water on the nightstand. He took a sip and handed it to Mickey, who  
gratefully gulped it down.

“Yevgeny or Jeremy?”

“Both,” Ian said earnestly.

“Give me the none-related kid first,” Mickey directed, curling up in Ian’s arms again.

“I don’t know. It’s just the way he alluded to things about his dad when we were talking. I’m  
worried he could be kinda like yours.”

“Shit,” Mickey grimaced. “Really?”

“Probably not as bad, nobody’s as bad, but, kinda. I was thinking maybe it could be good if you talk  
to him,” Ian suggested.

“Yeah, that’s not gonna happen. I’m not delusional enough to think I’m in the position to be giving  
anybody advice about that shit.”

“You sell yourself short,” Ian chided.

“You gotta a lot of experience with that, too,” Mickey pointed out.

“I love you.”

“Love you, too,” Mickey promised, kissing his name on his lover’s collarbone, still in awe it was  
there. “And what about Yev?”

“He’s still on that ‘prison is cool ‘ shit.”

“Fuck,” Mickey groaned, rolling his eyes. “Do we gotta get him on “Scared Straight” or something.  
Take him to the prison and let the bangers rough him up?”

“I don’t think so,” Ian sighed. “He’s not doing anything bad. He’s just... enamored by it for some  
reason.”

“We should lock him in the basement with a few couch cushions and a scratchy blanket and toss him  
old salami sandwiches for a few days. He’ll get it then.”

Ian chuckled. “You never thought it was cool, did you?”

“Nah.” Mickey shook his head. “I spent enough time in juvie to know lock up was bullshit.  
Anyway, it’s cooler not to get caught. Prison’s for assholes who weren’t sneaky enough.”

“Maybe don’t sell it that way,” Ian smirked.

“It’s probably not the best idea, huh?” he grinned, lifting his eyebrows.

“Probably not,” Ian agreed, slotting their mouths together.

“C’mere,” Mickey mumbled against his husband’s lips, tugging the taller man on top of him. “You  
know what today’s the anniversary of, don’t you?”

“The day after our wedding?” Ian grinned. “That was a fun time.”

“That was a really fun time,” Mickey agreed, reaching below the waistband of Ian’s boxer briefs to  
wrap his fingers around his husband’s thick cock.

Ian stretched toward the nightstand and grabbed the lube, slicking up his finger so he could prep  
Mickey.

They made out like teenagers, neither taking for granted how amazing it was to have a room that was  
theirs, in a house they owned, and a life together they’d fought for. The slower and more tongue-filled  
their kisses became, the quicker Ian’s fingers worked to deftly open Mickey.

Wrapping his legs around husband’s waist, Mickey threw his head back and bit his lip as Ian entered  
him. Mickey forced his eyes to stop rolling back and focus on the man on top of him instead. Ian was  
grabbing Mickey’s thighs as he snapped his hips, his lover’s fingernails digging into his skin as he  
pulled him apart.

Though Mickey was always more aware of the shrieks from their bedsprings and banging of their  
headboard when Yevgeny was home, he often became too lost in Ian to find it within himself to  
control the noises. He did, however, try to keep his voice down. Waves of pleasure crashed through  
his body as Ian surged inside him, taking him away, back to the day two years before and even  
further than that. He moaned into his husband’s mouth, letting Ian’s tongue muffle the sounds of his  
release. When the redhead continued to fuck him fervently, Mickey realized they wouldn’t be getting  
much sleep. It was the anniversary of the day after, after all.

Chapter Six: Keep It Together

There were very few things that could get Ian back to the Fairy Tail, an establishment that provoked  
too many dark memories and heavy feelings of self-doubt, but Tim and Sam were two of them.  
Having Mickey beside him as he entered the club, just as he had been years before, made his return  
more palatable. It wasn’t as though he only thought of the Fairy Tail negatively, he’d had some good  
times there as well, and every one of those high points were because of Mickey.  
The first time Mickey had shown up to the club, Ian was manic and high, a horrible combination that  
made him feel as though he’d only existed in piecemeal dreams rather than as a whole person rooted  
in reality. It was mind blowing that he’d spent years after that purposely drifting back to that place.  
Still, he could still remember what it was like to see Mickey after Svetlana, the army, those lost  
months, still remember how his heart pounded with love and anger. Fuck, he’d been so pissed, at  
himself, at Mickey, at Terry, at everything. He remembered the frustration giving way to fear as he  
grinded on his future husband’s lap, fear that Mickey would never have capacity love him the way  
Ian loved Mickey. How wrong he’d been.

“You good?” Mickey asked, resting his hand on the small of Ian’s back as they walked toward the  
bar.

“I’m fine,” Ian assured him with a soft smile, one that he knew Mickey had been able to see beyond  
for years.

“We can fuck off, hang out with them another time, at some other place where they can get cocks  
rubbed on their mugs,” Mickey offered, stopping dead in his tracks. “We can turn around right now.  
It’s not a big deal.”

Ian shook his head. “We’re here. Let’s be here.”

“You don’t gotta prove anything to anyone, asshole,” Mickey said tenderly, reaching up to tussle red  
hair.

“You always know how to sweet talk me,” Ian teased, even though it was true. The most poetic  
things other men had said to him never hit him in the chest the way the simplest phrases from Mickey  
had. And, fuck, if his acid tongued husband didn’t occasionally have a way of expressing his  
feelings that took Ian’s breath away. “I’m good,” he promised, looking into worried blue eyes.  
“We’re celebrating.”

“There you are!” Sam exclaimed as Ian and Mickey approached the bar that Tim had manned since  
they’d first met him. Instead of being behind it, pouring drinks as he typically was, the bartender was  
sitting on a stool, sipping a cocktail, flanked by friends. “So glad you made it,” he said hugging Ian.

He turned to Mickey and gave a nonchalant. “Cool you came, too.” Sam laughed wickedly as he  
wrapped an unenthused Mickey up in his strong arms. “Man, I tried to play that up, but I can’t resist  
you.”

“Hey, hey,” Mickey bristled, shrugging his friend off. “I liked you better for the two seconds you  
actually acted normal.”

“He’s spent now,” Tim teased, reaching out to shake Mickey’s hand.

“You’re a two second man, Sammy?” Ian ribbed, garnering a middle finger salute from the laughing  
man beside him.

“If that was the case, I don’t think Moe would be marrying him,” Mickey noted, nabbing the drink  
directly out of Tim’s hand and taking a swig.

“Help yourself, Mick,” Tim deadpanned. “You remember Luke, Joe, Ash and Rick, right?”

Mickey nodded his acknowledgment as Ian greeted the men warmly.

“No shit! What’s up, Red?” Angelo cried, nudging through the small group of revelers to give Ian a  
hug. “It’s been a minute.”

“It has been,” Ian agreed. “How are you doing?”

“Good. I mean, way better than it was. Since Marty left things have been on the up and up around  
here.”

Memories of the compromising position Ian found Angelo in with their former boss years before  
soured his stomach. Had the shit with Marty gone down when Ian was Angelo’s age, Ian knew he  
would've ended up on his knees, too.

“I’m really glad to hear that,” Ian said earnestly, for Angelo and all the other guys at the club.

“Everyone’s wifed up,” the scantily clad dancer pouted. “You, these guys,” he sighed, gesturing  
toward Tim and Sam. “When’s it my turn?”

“Aww, squirt,” Tim tsked, giving Angelo a companionable pat on his lower back.

“Squirt?” Ash smirked.

“That seems like half the problem right there,” Mickey stated, getting the attention of the bartender  
on duty.

“What’s the other half?” Angelo asked curiously.

Mickey was about to answer, when Ian stifled a laugh and patted his husband’s ass. “Shhh.”

“That’s a shitty fucking nickname,” Mickey mused, taking another sip of Tim’s drink as he waited  
for his own.

“You’re still really young,” Sam told Angelo. “You’ve got time.”

Angelo just shrugged and said his goodbyes.

“You gotta go find him someone,” Tim said, elbowing Mickey away. “You set Sam and I up.”

“Oh! Matchmaker status right here, huh?” Luke asked, impressed.

“We told you that story,” Sam informed his friend.

“You did and a few other ones, too,” Joe smirked.

“Fuck,” Mickey grunted. “You two got big mouths, you know that?” He drained the contents of his  
drink as soon as the bartender handed it to him and tapped the bar top to indicate he wanted another.

“All I have to say is there’s no way in Hell tonight can compare to the splendor of your bachelor  
party,” Sam stated. “It will go down in history as one of the hottest nights of my life.”

“I don’t know what that says about our sex life, babe,” Tim joked, smiling when his fiancé gave him  
a smooch.

“We’re good, we’re good,” Sam laughed before focusing on the rest of the party. “Honestly, Mickey  
didn’t know what the fuck was going on,” he began.

“They already said they heard it,” Mickey interrupted. “They don’t gotta hear it again.”

“I mean, there are no complaints here,” Rick promised, looking Ian over as discreetly as possible.  
“You could go for a dramatic re-enactment and we wouldn’t complain.”

“I’m sure you fucking wouldn't,” Mickey bristled, settling when Ian laid a hand on his shoulder.

“It’s our bachelor party and we want to reminisce,” Tim said. “Allow us our simple pleasures.”

Rolling his eyes, Mickey sipped his drink and looped am arm around Ian’s waist.

“So, Mickey is salty as fuck because he doesn’t think Ian’s allowed to be there. His sister made a  
really big deal about how their parties have to be separate and he thinks Ian’s all about it. Man, he  
was so pissy, wasn’t he?” Sam asked Tim, who nodded his agreement.

“Suddenly, I’m interested in hearing more,” Ian grinned, bumping Mickey playfully with his hip.

“By the time there’s a knock on the door, Mickey is, like, white boy wasted,” Sam explained,  
drawing raucous laughter from the rest of the guys.

“What does that even mean?” Mickey humphed. “White boy wasted?” He looked at Ian who was  
chuckling uncontrollably and gave him a hard spank on the ass.

“Anyway,” Sam continued, waving off Mickey’s inquiry. “Ian comes in and his eyes were like...”

“Starry,” Tim filled in. “He’s looking at Ian like he’s the sun, moon, stars, cosmos, the whole  
goddamn galaxy. Obsessed.”

“Alright, alright,” Mickey groaned.

Leaning down, Ian slotted his mouth against his husband’s, loving the tang of orange juice he could  
taste on his tongue.

“Okay, y’all are cute,” Joe crooned.

“Aren’t we supposed to be talking about you guys?” Ian asked Sam and Tim, who seemed to think  
the idea of changing the subject was ludicrous.

“So Ian starts dancing...” Sam began.

“You used to work here, didn’t you?” Ash interrupted.

“Yeah,” Ian nodded. “On and off for a while.”

“You must’ve made bank,” Joe stated, earning him narrowed eyes from Mickey.

“So he starts dancing,” Sam reiterated, louder so his friends would give him the proper attention,  
“and Mickey’s ready to drop dead, like he looked so turned on I thought he would combust.”

“C’mon,” Mickey chided. “I’ve been fucking with the guy for half my life. I can keep it together.”

Ian raised his eyebrows as the rest of the group regarded Mickey skeptically.

“Yeah, whatever you gotta tell yourself,” Tim laughed. He then directed Sam to, “tell them about the  
shorts.”

“Ian’s wearing these thin little booty shorts,” Sam continued.

“Oh I forgot to tell you, man. We need to get those so we can hang them up on the wall here. Retire  
you officially as the MVP,” Tim teased.

“You just want to wear them on your honeymoon,” Ash joked.

“Not a bad idea,” Sam hummed, with a nod. “Not a bad idea at all.”

“In your dreams,” Tim chided playfully.

“Literally,” Sam confirmed. “Those shorts are majestic.”

“Alright. We’re done,” Mickey decided. “We’re not gonna sit around here and talk about my  
husband’s majestic dick.”

“Nobody said anything about my dick,” Ian whispered with a grin. “Other than you. You just did.”

“That’s what they’re getting at. Aren’t you?” he questioned, glaring at Sam. “Hmm?”

“It’s more the construction of the shorts themselves. How they can hold up so effectively while being  
paper thin,” Sam disagreed. “It’s a marvel in garmentry.”

“Garmentry?” Joe laughed. “You’re making up words now, Sammy?”

“He’s trying to tap dance his way outta an ass beating from Mick,” Tim grinned. “And from the  
looks of my boy over there, Sam’s not doing that good of a job.”

Clearing his throat, Sam held his hands up in mock surrender.

“How about we talk about the fact that you cuties are getting married in two weeks,” Luke  
suggested, “because I, for one, cannot wait!”

“It’s going to be great,” Ian added, happy to go along with the change of the subject, not just because  
he believed it, but also for the sake of his surly husband.

The conversation moved full swing into all things Sam and Tim’s wedding, and Mickey listened  
dutifully, until he leaned in close to Ian. With his lips resting on Ian’s earlobe, he whispered,

“You’ve always made it impossible for me to keep it together.”  
Ian smiled as Mickey’s teeth sunk into his soft skin.

“Always got me unraveling for you.”

Turning his chin down so he could look into Mickey’s blown our eyes, Ian promised, “You’ve  
always made me want to keep it together.”

And he still did.

Chapter Seven: Company

Mickey was sick of spending time with anyone but Ian. Between busy nights at work, commitments  
with friends, and Mandy’s impending visit, he was craving a night alone with his husband.  
Unfortunately, Ian had other ideas, ideas that left Mickey incredibly cranky.

“C’mon,” the redhead sighed, looping his arms around Mickey’s waist as he brushed his teeth. “You  
can’t stay mad at me. This was an extenuating circumstance.”

Instead of replying with words, Mickey lifted his eyebrows and moved his brush back to his molars.

“How do you look so cute when your foaming at the mouth, hmm?” Ian asked, resting his chin on  
Mickey’s shoulder and smiling sweetly at him in the mirror.

“Fuck off,” Mickey garbled, spitting the toothpaste into the sink as he shrugged his husband off him.

“Carl’s only here for the long weekend and he really wants you to meet Gage.”

“That’s weird,” Mickey muttered, wiping his mouth with a towel. “You met him last night. That’s  
enough. I don’t know why I gotta hang out with him, too. I get one night off this week, Ian. One.  
This isn’t the way I want to spent it.”

“I know,” Ian nodded. “I should’ve told them it wasn’t going to happen, but Carl’s just so... proud.  
Like, he really wants to show everyone what he’s found.”

“And what do I gotta do with any of that?” Mickey asked, pulling on a sleeveless black top.

“He’s always looked up to you, Mick.”

“That’s only because he’s a short motherfucker.”

Ian laughed. “I think you’re the same height now.”

“So, he doesn’t look up to me then.”

“You know what I mean.”

“If you mean he wanted to be like me when he was growing up, I’m glad he never was,” Mickey  
stated, exiting the master bedroom. He wasn’t surprised to hear Ian stalking after him.

“What the fuck’s that supposed to mean?” Ian demanded, nearly tripping over Grumpy as he  
followed Mickey down the hallway. “You’re the best person I know.”

“If he would’ve followed in my footsteps he would’ve been in prison instead of the army. Don’t act  
like it’s not good he didn’t turn out like me,” Mickey shot back, turning around in the stairs so he  
could rest his hand on his husband’s chest. “I’m doing good now.”

“Better than good,” Ian insisted.

“Whatever. Don’t try to wrap a bow on the shit of the past, okay? Your brother wanted to be like me  
because he thought it was cool to be a bad. Everything’s changed, we’ve both changed. I don’t  
know why he’d give a damn about what I think of the dude.”

“Because maybe he wasn’t impressed by you because you were ‘bad,’ Maybe he was the only one  
who didn’t have their head up their ass and actually realized you were good,” Ian reasoned, earning  
him a gentle pat on his ass from Mickey, who rose up to meet him on his step and gave him a kiss.

“You talk too much,” Mickey said, smiling against Ian’s lips.

“You love it,” Ian flirted, placing both his hands on Mickey’s cheeks to kiss him harder.

“I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Ian said, following Mickey down the stairs and into the kitchen. “You’re gonna  
like Gage. He’s a nice guy and Carl says he rolls some thick-ass blunts.”  
Mickey glanced at Ian and wordlessly popped the the tab of his beer can.

“You’re not gonna say anything to that?” Ian questioned, dumping a bag of Doritos into a serving  
bowl.

“Guys who roll fat blunts can eat chips outta the bag,” Mickey chided. “I’m not washing that.”

“Nobody asked you to.”

“I see what you’re trying to do.”

“Oh yeah?” Ian asked, a smirk on his face as he anticipated Mickey’s answer. “What am I trying to  
do?”

“You want to get me fucked up so I’ll forget I’m pissed at you and climb all over your lanky ass.”

“I was actually hoping you’d climb onto my big hard dick,” Ian grinned, “but close.”

Throwing up his middle finger, Mickey laughed and took a swig of his beer.

The doorbell caught Ian as he started to cross the room toward Mickey. “You were about to get it,”  
Ian teased. “You got lucky.”

“See...” Mickey tsked. “I don’t think getting interrupted when I’m ‘about to get it’ is lucky at all.”

“Probably not,” Ian relented, chuckling as he went to answer the door.

“Yeah, probably not, Milkovich,” Mickey called after him, crushing the rest of his beer and then the  
can that had contained it. Tossing it into the trash can, he headed to the living room where he heard  
the guys talking.

“Hey Mick,” Carl exclaimed, giving Mickey a hug.

“What’s up, soldier?” Mickey greeted, realizing it was kind of nice to see Carl after all.

“Mickey, this is my boyfriend Gage, Gage, my brother-in-law, Mickey.”

“How’s it going, man? Heard a lot about you,” Gage said, extending his hand to shake Mickey’s.  
When Mickey had gotten home from work the night before, Ian had told him about the BBQ at  
Fiona’s and informed him that Gage looked even more like him in person. Mickey had thought his  
husband was giving him shit, until he locked eyes with his doppelgänger. The resemblance was both  
uncanny and moderately creepy.

“Uh,” Mickey sniffed, studying Gage’s face. Carl’s boyfriend was younger and taller than Mickey,  
but their faces were so similar that Mickey wondered if Terry had fathered any other bastards. It was  
a distinct possibility. “You too.”

“We do look alike,” Gage said, clicking his tongue at Carl. “You’re delusional if you think we  
don’t.”

“I don’t see it,” Carl replied innocently, laughing when Ian went for a quick grab of his stomach. “I  
really don’t!”

“You have to get your eyes checked then, killer,” Gage teased, wrapping an arm around Carl’s  
shoulder and leaning down to give him peck.

While Mickey knew it shouldn’t have been strange to see Carl he openly affectionate with a guy, it  
was. He wondered if Carl had struggled with his sexuality when he was growing up too, and if he  
should’ve seen it and been there for him. In hindsight, perhaps that’s why the kid had hung around  
so much and regarded Mickey with respect the other Gallaghers couldn’t seem to muster, because he  
was impressed by the ownership Mickey had finally taken over his life, until he gave a chunk of it  
away to the state of Illinois.

The dinner conversation was lighter than Mickey’s thoughts, which he was glad for. Listening to  
Carl and Gage talk about their life on base in Texas brought up memories of Ian training for  
Westpoint, the hope in his eyes, the strength in his convictions. Mickey couldn’t help but consider  
how different things would have been between them if Ian had been able to stay in the army. Mickey  
was married and hadn’t had the capacity to make Ian stay. Maybe Ian would have met his own Gage  
and made a career in the army. He closed his eyes, willing the scenario to leave his mind. Though he  
wasn’t one for cliches, the old adage, “everything happens for a reason” seemed appropriate. They’d  
been through hell and back and then hell again for a reason. Instinctively, Mickey reached for Ian’s  
hand and ran his fingertip over the titanium band on the redhead’s finger. He finally felt like they’d  
made it, in spite of all the obstacles, they’d found their way.

“Wanna sit on the back porch and smoke some weed?” Mickey asked, collecting the empty paper  
plates from the table and dumping them into the garbage. “I got Doritos for the munchies and Ian put  
them in a bowl like we’re fucking fancy.”

“You guys are fancy. You own a house,” Carl responded, holding his arms up to present the Ian and  
Mickey’s house in all its aging glory.

“A nice house,” Gage added, pulling a baggie of weed out of the pocket of his dark skinny jeans.

“Did Ian tell you about my blunts?”

“He told me what he heard about them,” Mickey nodded, looking at his husband skeptically.

“Right, right,” Gage corrected quickly. “We didn’t smoke last night. Carl just likes to brag about my  
skills.”

“All his skills,” Carl added, waggling his eyebrows as he guzzled the rest of his beer.

“Easy there,” Ian warned with a grin.

“The beer or the details?” Carl clarified.

“The details. You’re my baby brother,” Ian crooned, tussling Carl’s hair before grabbing another   
six-pack for the guys and leading them outside.

The summer night was warm and so was Mickey, with a good meal settling in his stomach, beer in  
his veins and, after his first inhale, dank weed fogging his head. He listened as the other guys  
bullshitted, adding to conversation every once in a while. It was easy to see that Carl and Gage had a  
strong connection from the way they exchanged looks and smiles. It was soft and promising and  
Mickey found himself hoping they’d make it.

Though Mickey felt the urge to straddle Ian’s lap, he held back. Still, he scooted his chair closer to  
his husband’s and rested his hand on the meat of Ian’s thigh. The knowing grin the action earned  
from the redhead had Mickey licking his lips in anticipation.

“You two used to bang all the time,” Carl said bluntly, standing up to the cross the circle and hand  
Mickey the remainder of the joint. He turned to Gage. “I swear, every night the springs squeaking on  
Ian’s bed was what I fell asleep to and sometimes when I woke up to piss they’d still be going, like,  
hours later.”

“No shit,” Gage laughed. “You all shared a room?”

“For a while,” Ian nodded. “You gotta do what you gotta do when you share a room. We couldn’t  
go to Mickey’s...” his voice trailed off as if he was recalling the fucked up situation. “So, that was  
that.”

“Married life slow you down?” Carl asked, causing Mickey to sputter as he inhaled.

Mickey watched Carl get a hard elbow to the rib from Gage as Carl asked, ‘what,’ as if it was a  
perfectly normal inquiry.

“If we ever decide to make it official, I want to know we’re still gonna get it in,” Carl smirked. “This  
is research.”

“We both work a lot,” Ian said, “but it’s not a drought or anything. We find time for each other.”

“You thinking about that?” Mickey asked Carl.

“About what?” the younger Gallagher questioned.  
“Getting married.”

Carl shrugged and grinned at Gage. “Maybe.”

“Do it,” Mickey directed. “Do you fuck a lot now?”

“I fuck sometimes and he fucks the others,” Carl laughed, drawing another elbow from Gage whose  
cheeks were tinting pink.

“That’s not what he meant,” Gage whispered with a chuckle in his voice.

“Great. Now I gotta imagine a little chihuahua fucking a Rottweiler,” Mickey teased, clicking his  
tongue at the image that was trying to push its way into his brain.

“He’s not even thick,” Carl objected. “He’s he a lab and I’d be, like, a cocker spaniel.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Gage laughed, hiding his face in his hands.

“That’s a useless cause with the two of them,” Ian grinned. “They’ll go back and forth all night.”

“I better roll another one then,” Gage decided, pulling his weed out to get to work. The statement  
garnered an appreciative nod from Mickey.

“Pass that shit.”

Company wasn’t so bad.

Chapter Eight: Morning Wood

Ian’s day started like any other. He woke up with his alarm at 7:00am and took a few moments to  
savor the smell of his husband’s skin before reluctantly untangling their bodies. Knowing Mickey  
was beat from a late shift the night before, Ian decided to ignore the straining in his groin in favor of  
letting his man sleep. As Ian showered, he thought about the future, wondering when the time would  
come that he’d stop springing morning wood. Being that he was only thirty, he knew the possibility  
of impotence at an advanced age wasn’t something he really needed to worry about, and yet, he  
couldn’t get it off his mind. There was so much more than sex in their marriage, but Ian never  
wanted to stop being able to fuck Mickey. By the time he dried off and brushed his teeth, Ian was  
sure he was going to march his horny ass back to the bed and screw his husband. One day he’d  
wake up with a limp cock and he didn’t want to waste wood when it could be used to make Mickey  
moan and shake in the delicious ways he did when he was cumming.

“Wanna get you off,” Ian crooned, crawling onto Mickey and kissing his ear lobe as he whispered,

“Can I?”

“Bet you can,” Mickey grinned, groaning sleepily as he stretched his arms over his head and then  
wrapped them around Ian.

“One day I’m going to wake up without a hard-on,” Ian informed Mickey as he slicked his digits  
with lube and tucked them between the brunet’s legs. “Like maybe I’ll have to take Viagra to get it  
up at all.”

Lifting an eyebrow as Ian fingered him open, Mickey cupped his hand on as much of Ian’s dick as  
he could, “Feels good to me.”

“Not right now,” Ian tsked. “In the future.”

“Okay,” Mickey said slowly, digging his fingernails into Ian’s broad shoulder blades when the  
redhead began to scissor. “Maybe I will too.”

“Maybe you’ll what?”

“Have to take Viagra or some shit to get hard.”

Ian pondered the statement for a moment. “We’re going to get old one day.”

“We are,” Mickey confirmed.

“Fuck,” Ian muttered, shaking his head as if the thought of aging had been a foreign concept. “What  
if you don’t think I’m cute anymore?”

“Do I think you’re cute now?” he scoffed, grimacing when Ian hooked his fingers. “Fucker.”

“I’m serious,” Ian admonished, pulling out of his husband, who in turn sat up in bed, aggravated.

“Where is all this coming from?” Mickey questioned.

“I don’t know. Don’t you ever just... think?”

“Yeah I do it a lot, but it’s not as dangerous as when you do,” Mickey replied, patting Ian’s knee.

“Do you need me to say something?”

“About what?”

“I don’t know. Me loving you even when you got saggy balls or some shit,” Mickey offered. “Cause  
I will.”

“You used to make fun of me when I was with older guys,” Ian pointed out.

“That’s because you were, like, twelve and they were fifty.”

“I wasn’t twelve.”

“How old were you when you started fucking around with pedos then?”

Ian shrugged. “Fourteen? And they weren’t pedophiles.”

“Yes they fucking were,” Mickey said, narrowing his eyes. “The fact that you were into them or  
whatever didn’t make them less creepy, dumbass. What would you do if you found out two years  
from now that Yev was banging some grown-ass man?”

“Kill him.”

“Yev.”

“The guy,” Ian corrected.

“Why’s that?”

“Because he’s a kid.”

“And you weren’t?”

“I was never a kid.”

“Oh yeah? What were you then?” Mickey challenged.

“Confused.”

“Hmm.”

“I think you were the most normal part of me back then,” Ian decided. “You probably still are.”

“Probably,” Mickey agreed, smirking. “You woke me up saying you wanted to get me off...”

Sliding his hand behind his husband’s head, Ian pulled Mickey in closer to him to slot their mouths  
together.

“You got an unfair advantage,” Mickey said, moving his lips away. “You taste like toothpaste.”

“I’d say you taste like ass, but your ass tastes better,” Ian grinned.

“Ha, ha, ha. You wanna keep making stupid fucking jokes or do you wanna get the fuck in me?”

Mickey laughed as Ian tossed him to the bed and kissed a trail down his torso, wrapping his lips  
around Mickey’s dick.

“Much better way to use your mouth,” Mickey murmured, laughing when Ian flipped him the bird as  
he gave him head. “I know a better way for you to use that finger too.”

Ian chuckled around Mickey’s cock before sliding two fingers back into his husband’s ass. The more  
fervently Ian went at it, the shorter Mickey’s breaths became quickly dissolving into a series of low  
moans.

Knowing his man was ready, Ian let Mickey’s big dick fall from his mouth, positioning himself on  
his knees so he could line himself up with Mickey’s entry. Dropping his head back when he  
bottomed out, the redhead moaned, loving how his lover’s muscles squeezed the base of his shaft.

“Mmm. Fuck.”

Ian rolled his hips slowly, watching as Mickey’s eyes rolled back in their sockets at the feeling of  
being whole.

They were quiet as their bodies moved in unison, working toward the release they both craved.  
Tattooed fingers tangled in Ian’s hair as he delivered long hard strokes into his husband. Peering  
down at Mickey’s heavy cock, Ian wrapped his hand around it, knowing it needed attention.  
Ian attempted to hold himself together until Mickey got off, but looking at his lover’s thick body  
below him had his balls tightening. Mickey’s dick, his thighs, his arms, his chest, his lips —all so  
thick. “I’m gonna cum,” Ian panted, clenching Mickey’s thick ass with his free hand.

“I’m close,” Mickey grunted. “Pound it faster.”

Doing as he was told, Ian increased his pace, frantically tugging Mickey’s cock as he tried to keep  
his rhythm.

“Ooo,” Mickey moaned, punching out an exhale as Ian took him to the edge. “Ohh. Oh shit. Come  
on.”

Watching Mickey spray shot after shot of cum over his own belly and chest had Ian pushing jizz  
deep within him, making sure he was covered, inside and out.

Mickey gave Ian a sated grin. “Damn, that was good.”

“Amazing,” Ian agreed, pulling out and pressing a sweet kiss on Mickey’s tattoo before letting his  
tongue hang out of his mouth and move down Mickey’s body, cleaning his sticky skin.

“My cumslut,” Mickey crooned, arching his back so Ian could get a better angle. “Don’t miss a  
spot.”

“You know I wouldn’t waste a drop,” Ian assured, humming as he lavished every inch.

Once he was sure he’d gotten everything, Ian hoisted Mickey’s legs up and buried his face into his  
husband’s sloppy asshole, pushing his tongue inside him.

“Nasty motherfucker,” Mickey moaned, his body twitching as Ian focused on the sensitive spot,  
lapping him up.

“You love it,” Ian teased, pressing a final kiss against the puckered hole before sitting up straight.

“I do.”

“I have a client at nine.”

“You better go then,” Mickey yawned, snuggling his face into the pillow. “Tuck me in.”

Ian grabbed the comforter from where it had been kicked to the floor and draped it over Mickey,  
pushing the edges under his body so he was wrapped up like a human burrito. He gazed down at  
Mickey proudly for a moment, glad he could take care of him.

“Feed the dog and take him out before you leave,” Mickey directed. “I think he’s in Yev’s bed. I  
don’t want him waking me up.”

“Alright,” Ian said, taking tissues out of the box on the nightstand to wipe his dick. “Anything else?”

“Don’t forget to take the trash out,” he added, “and gimme a kiss.”

Ian smiled, pulling his boxer briefs up the rest of the way before leaning over to smooch Mickey. “I  
love you.”

“I love you too, baby,” Mickey said. “I’ll text you when I’m up. Maybe I’ll come up north for  
lunch.”

“That would be nice,” Ian crooned, giving Mickey one last kiss.

Quietly, Ian continued to get dressed and exited the room to take care of the chores before heading to  
work.

“Come on, Grumps,” he said, tickling the lounging pooch under his chin. “You hungry?”

Ian laughed when the dog summoned all his energy and sprung out of the bed, barreling down the  
stairs. Opening the backdoor, he let Grumpy out into the yard to do his business and poured him a  
bowl of food. Fetching a yogurt and banana for himself, Ian sat on the couch to watch the news as he  
ate his breakfast. The record high temperatures the meteorologist was reporting had him thankful for  
air conditioning, something he’d been especially grateful for since living in the shitty apartment with  
its unreliable HVAC unit.

_Stay tuned at half past the hour for Connie Cotania’s Dirty Dining report. Connie will take you  
inside some of the Chi’s favorite restaurants and tell you which are safe and which are a mistake.  
But first... is former Lieutenant Governor turned Illinois Junior Senator, Theodore Goodwyn  
considering a run for the White House? Sources close to Democrat say ‘it could happen.’ This noncon-firmation  
is still good news for many in the party who have been hearing a solid ‘no’ to the  
question for years _.__

__Ian turned of the television and stared at the black screen. It wasn’t as though he hadn’t known  
Theo’s political aspirations went beyond the state level, after all, it was something they’d discussed  
at length, but it was strange to hear the partial announcement on the news. While it didn’t make  
much difference to Ian what his ex-fiancé chose to do with his life, he didn’t want to be dragged into  
the limelight as a part of Theo’s past. Moreover, he didn’t want Mickey and his family to be spoken  
about again. Regret and apprehension settled in Ian’s chest as he chided himself for finding a way to  
complicate things. Always._ _

__Chapter Nine: Worry_ _

__Mickey worried about Ian... always. Ever since the day his future husband showed up on his porch,  
freckled face panicked thanks to the return of his mother, Mickey had found himself fretting for the  
fucker. Over the years, Ian had given him so many reasons to worry, from disappearing for months at  
a time to concerns regarding his Bipolar diagnosis and his eventual affinity for cocaine, the love of  
his life had proven he'd perpetually keep Mickey's hands full. Even when he’d had ninety-six months  
of hard time to focus on problems of his own, Mickey had thought of Ian, hoped he was taking his  
medication, being safe, that he was happy. But when he’d found out Ian was happy, even  
marginally, Mickey had wished he’d worried about his own happiness, though there hadn’t been any  
to be found in MCC._ _

__Sometimes when he was alone in the house or had a down moment at work, Mickey recalled his  
vows and thought he should have made more promises to Ian, like committing to take his husband’s  
concerns onto his own shoulders rather than letting Ian bear the weight of his worry. Though he  
wished there was, Mickey knew there wasn’t much he could do about the anxiety Ian had regarding  
Theo and the trajectory of his career. Ian’s ex-fiancé was going to be present in their lives whether  
they wanted him to be or not. Theo was a politically powerful man who was on track to gain  
popularity, a guarantee his past would be drudged up ad nauseam in the national arena. The senator’s  
image was squeaky clean, save the relationship he had with a former stripper turned drug addict  
turned cheater and there was no doubt in Mickey’s mind Ian would exploited in the interest of  
making Theo look bad, which would make Ian look worse. It’s not that Mickey gave a shit what  
anyone said about Ian, it wasn’t even that he cared what they said about him, it was more that he  
worried how Ian would cope with the drags. In the past, he hadn’t handled them well, which was  
understandable but problematic just the same._ _

__As much as Mickey didn’t care about the public’s opinion of his husband, he couldn’t help but be  
concerned about the impact on Yevgeny. The first time salacious stories about Ian and Mickey’s past  
had hit the news, Yev was younger, spending time with other kids his age, who cared more about  
Minecraft than scandals. Like any fad, interest in Ian’s background had dissipated when the public  
moved on to the next headline, hungry for fresh meat. If, or more likely than not, when Theo ran for  
a loftier office, they’d be ready to feast again on the politician’s former fiancé. Yev would be old  
enough to understand and kids at school would be more aware. They’d realize Yevgeny’s dads  
weren’t just a couple of homos from Halsted, they were a couple of homos who had fucked up  
epically throughout their youth, and probably still did from time to time. Or maybe they’d think  
worse, that Ian and Mickey were just fucked up guys, and Mickey wondered if they would be right  
in thinking that, maybe they’d always been a mess and would continue to be one, because that’s who  
they were, messes of men who had messed up and would forever be a mess for one another.  
Regardless of who he and Ian were, Mickey didn’t want to mess shit up for Yev. Yevgeny had been  
through enough thanks to the both of them. He didn’t deserve to have to go through more._ _

__“You’re crankier than usual,” Mandy noted as she ate potato chips on the couch._ _

__Though Mickey lived to give Mandy shit, her visit couldn’t have come at a better time. She and  
Olivia brought some levity to the house on Dante street, a lightening up that was much needed  
considering the circumstances._ _

__As much as Mickey hadn’t wanted to, he and Ian had been fighting since they’d heard the news of  
Theo’s possible run. Things were tense with Ian being frustrated about the decisions of his past  
leaking into their present and Mickey trying to tell him not to freak out about it. Worse than  
attempting to settle Ian down, was asking him if he was ‘alright’ and checking up on his feelings,  
which Mickey did ‘all the fucking time’ according to his husband. So a cacophony of ‘fuck you’  
would fill the air, until they got tired of arguing and had sex. All would be settled until Ian charged  
up again. Rinse and repeat. As long as they were fighting, fucking, and Ian was sad, mad, sleeping,  
waking, eating and complaining, Mickey was relieved. If he was showing the gamut of emotions and  
taking care of himself, Ian was okay, it was the day Ian stopped exhibiting all those feelings that  
Mickey worried about, the day he couldn’t get him out of bed._ _

__“I told you, he’s been tough,” Mickey grumbled, tossing his phone onto the coffee table and sinking  
into the chair._ _

__“I can’t deal with you two having problems,” Olivia admitted, grabbing the chips from Mandy and  
shoving a handful into his mouth. “I’m going to gain ten pounds from stress eating this weekend. I  
mean, you guys are goals, if you’re struggling what’s that mean for the rest of us?”_ _

__“We’ll be fine, Suzy fucking Sunshine,” Mickey huffed, shooting a dirty look at his sister’s  
overdramatic sidekick. “We’ve dealt with worse.”_ _

__“That’s not a lie,” Mandy confirmed, smiling at Olivia. “They’ll be fine. We’ll probably hear them  
aggressively fucking tonight just like old times.”_ _

__“Don’t get my hopes up,” Olivia smirked._ _

__“You won’t hear us fucking,” Mickey promised. “We’ve got good at being quiet, you know, with  
Yev being here part-time and shit. We’re not trying to scar the kid for life.”_ _

__“It’s good he knows his parents love each other,” Olivia offered._ _

__“He knows that whether he hears us fucking or not. Did you hear your parents banging a lot? Is that  
why you’re a pervert?” Mickey questioned, drawing a laugh from Mandy and a giggling ‘fuck you’  
from Olivia._ _

__“Do you know how many guys at bars talk about wanting to watch me and Mandy get it on?”_ _

__“Probably a lot of them and they’re pervs like you,” Mickey decided, taking a swig of his beer. “Are  
you two finally fucking or something?”_ _

__“No we’re not ‘finally fucking,’” Mandy laughed. “We’re still straight.”_ _

__He shrugged. “Olivia made it sound like you were pounding down some puss.”_ _

__“Pounding down some puss?” Olivia roared. “Where the hell do you come up with this stuff?”_ _

__Mickey rubbed his forehead and shook his head in response._ _

__“Mick always made me bring him girl on girl porn when he was in juvie,” Mandy her friend._ _

__“Before you were out?” Olivia asked Mickey, who nodded. “That doesn’t make any sense.  
Wouldn’t you ask for like, hetero porn so you could at least take a peek at some peen?”_ _

__“Don’t bring her back here again,” Mickey warned Mandy. “Weirdo.”_ _

__“Why did you want girl on girl though?” his sister inquired. “Why no sneaky dick?”_ _

__“Stop asking stupid fucking questions,” he admonished, but the truth was his answer was  
embarrassing. He never wanted to be the guy who did what other people did because he wanted to  
fit in, he never gave a shit like that, except for when he did. He did back then, he wanted to be like  
the other guys in juvie who were fantasizing about women, not Ian Gallagher’s cock._ _

__“When’s my nephew going to be here?”_ _

__“We have to go get him from Svet’s in a few minutes,” Mickey replied._ _

__“You don’t let him ride the L by himself?” Mandy asked surprised, “Really? He’s twelve. We were  
on the L by ourselves at half his age.”_ _

__“We were scrappy motherfuckers. He’s not because he doesn’t gotta be,” Mickey answered. “When  
you have a kid of your own you can decide when he can ride the L by himself and until then you can  
shut the fuck up.”_ _

__“I love it,” Olivia grinned, giving Mickey an enthusiastic thumbs up. “Overprotective Daddy vibes.”_ _

__“Two overprotective daddies,” Mandy told her. “According to Ian, he’s gonna be teaching Yevvy to  
box soon.”_ _

__“I like it.”_ _

__“I can’t imagine him fighting,” Mickey admitted. “He’s small. He’s got the baseball thing going on  
but he’s good cause he’s quick.”_ _

__“Wonder where he get that from...” Mandy teased._ _

__He groaned, “You’re annoying me already. When do you guys leave?”_ _

__“Four days, but we’re thinking of moving here,” Olivia joked. “Keeping you constantly in our  
company.”_ _

__“Kill me.”_ _

__“Maybe we will,” Mandy smirked. “When’s Ian gonna be home?_ _

__“You bored with me?” Mickey asked._ _

__“Always.”_ _

__“A little after five,” he replied. “Since you’re here probably a little before.”_ _

__“He loves me,” Mandy beamed. “I miss him. I can’t wait to give him a squeeze. Him and the booger  
both.”_ _

__“He’ll be happy to see you,” Mickey stated, and he knew it was true. Regardless of how much he  
wanted to settle Ian down and give him the solace he needed, a breath of fresh air via Mandy would  
be a good thing. Though Mickey knew Ian had shared what was going on with Mandy, it was  
different to be comforted in person rather than on the phone. While Mickey was Ian’s person, Mandy  
was too. He wanted Ian to have a good time during her visit and find a way to worry less, at least for  
a little while. It would take some of the stress off both of them._ _

__And maybe they’d fight less, but fuck just the same. That would be better._ _

__Chapter Ten: The Milkovich Legacy_ _

__As excited as Ian was to come home to Mickey, he was over the moon to walk through the door of  
his house knowing his best friend was going to be there, too. He hadn’t wanted to let the news of  
Theo’s possible run affect him, but it was impossible to ignore all the drama that could come from it.  
He wasn’t ignorant to the fact, however, that the anxiety he was feeling, and the subsequent  
crankiness it caused, he was inviting unnecessary stress into his marriage, which was exactly what he  
was trying to avoid._ _

__It never failed to astound Ian how patient his husband was. Throughout the span of their relationship,  
Mickey had continued to prove he had a superhuman capacity to hold shit down when everything  
was turbulent around them. Just once, he wanted to be the rock, but he didn’t feel solid enough. He  
wondered if he ever would. Stupidly, he’d imagined that once he had the Milkovich name, he’d  
encompass some of the strength his husband and best friend did, but it was more than a name that  
gave them that strength and he knew it._ _

__“Hey!” Mandy exclaimed, throwing her arms around Ian as soon as he walked through the door._ _

__“Hey Mands,” he sighed, tucking his face into crook of her neck. It had been so long since she  
smelled even vaguely like Mickey. Years had passed since they used the same soap and lived in the  
same house. In a way the change continued to feel like a loss. “I missed you.”_ _

__“I missed you, too,” she promised, rubbing his back soothingly as they embraced._ _

__“Let me in there,” Olivia said, giving Ian a hug. “Good to you.”_ _

__“Good to see you,” he agreed._ _

__Though there was always affection when they were all reunited, Ian couldn’t help but feel like they’d  
been talking about him before he’d gotten home, that Mickey had told them how tough things had  
been. When he felt a tug on the back of his sweatpants, he turned find Mickey standing behind him,  
gnawing on his bottom lip._ _

__“Hey baby,” Mickey muttered, as Ian hooked his arms under his husband’s armpits and pulled him  
into a tight hug. It was as though they hadn’t seen each other in months, every hour that they spent  
arguing felt like a day on its own._ _

__“Hey,” Ian whispered, pulling back enough to slot their mouths together, a quiet moment though the  
house was more full of people than it typically was.. “How was your day?”_ _

__“Okay,” Mickey replied, reaching his hand up to tussle Ian’s hair. “What about you? Hmm? You  
doing alright?”_ _

__“Better now,” Ian decided._ _

__“Good. You were a fucking prick today,” Mickey teased, but Ian knew there was a lot of truth in  
jest._ _

__“I’ll make it up to you,” he said, giving Mickey a series of pecks._ _

__“By not being a pissy bitch?”_ _

__“By trying not to be a pissy bitch,” Ian confirmed, smirking at his husband’s raised eyebrows._ _

__“Trying hard not to be a pissy bitch.”_ _

__“Liv made tacos,” Mandy announced._ _

__“And they’re ready,” Olivia called from the kitchen._ _

__“You put our guests to work?” Ian asked Mickey, giving him a playful pat on the ass._ _

__“We started getting Blue Apron boxes and she thinks she’s a chef,” Mandy said, taking Ian’s hand to  
lead him across the room. “And look at her sous chef working hard.”_ _

__“You’re cooking, Yev?” Ian asked surprised._ _

__Yevgeny shrugged. “I’m just kinda moving meat around in the pan.”_ _

__“That’s cooking,” Olivia assured him. “One step at a time.”_ _

__“You domesticated her,” Mickey told Mandy, shoving a handful of shredded cheese into his mouth._ _

__“And Ian still hasn’t domesticated you,” she admonished, grabbing the bag of cheese out of her  
brother’s hand._ _

__“Hilarious,” Mickey replied sarcastically, nudging his knee against Grumpy’s nose as the dog circled  
his legs, looking for cheese. “Go away.”_ _

__“Come here, baby,” Ian tsked, bending down to snuggle the dog, who huffed and lumbered away._ _

__“The fatty wants food not hugs,” Mickey stated._ _

__“Suddenly I relate with Grumps,” Olivia joked, laying the tortillas on a plate. “Let’s do this. Where  
are we eating?”_ _

__“The table’s too small for all of us,” Mandy noted._ _

__“We’re not that formal. I know our swanky house is misleading,” Ian laughed as he began making  
putting together a taco on a paper plate, “but we can eat in the living room.”_ _

__“Bring me a couple” Mickey said, grabbing a beer from the refrigerator before heading into the other  
room._ _

__“Yevvy, do you want me to make yours, too?” Ian asked as he fixed his husband’s dinner._ _

__“I can do it,” Yev answered easily._ _

__“My nephew’s an independent guy,” Mandy beamed, tickling Yevgeny’s side. “Up and coming  
chef, badass baseball player, and adorable as hell. How did you come from your father?”_ _

__“I heard that, skank,” Mickey called from the other room._ _

__“Yev’s all Mickey,” Ian complimented. “Both amazing men.”_ _

__Yevgeny’s cheeks blazed red as he mumbled a “thank you,” and ducked out of the kitchen to join his  
father in the living room._ _

__As they ate, Mandy and Olivia told stories of their New York City escapades while Ian imagined  
how nice it would be to get away from Chicago and all the mistakes that lined its streets._ _

__“Can Dmitri come over tonight?” Yevgeny asked as Mandy collected the empty plates._ _

__“No,” Mickey answered quickly. “Not gonna happen, Yev.”_ _

__“Oh come on,” Yev groaned. “He’ll be chill. He’s my friend, you can’t keep him away forever.”_ _

__“Watch me,” Mickey challenged._ _

__“Is this the kid who has a crush on Ian?” Mandy asked. “You won’t let him over, Mick?You are so  
jealous. He’s twelve!”_ _

__“Really?” Yevgeny sighed shaking his head at Ian and Mickey, who were both shooting dirty looks  
at Mandy. “You two made a big deal about keeping it low key about Jeremy and you’re out there  
telling everyone.”_ _

__“Not everyone, just me,” Mandy corrected. “And I’m guessing it’s another kid, huh?”_ _

__“Ding, ding, ding, asshole,” Mickey replied with a roll of his eyes._ _

__“What’s the problem with Dmitri?” Olivia asked, ever curious about all things Milkovich._ _

__“He’s a little fucking delinquent,” Mickey answered, much to Yevgeny’s chagrin. “He got caught  
stealing, pops pills, gets in fights... am I missing anything Yev?”_ _

__“I would say your hypocrisy but you’re full of that,” his son shot back._ _

__“Watch it,” Mickey warned, eyebrows flying high._ _

__“You weren’t any different at twelve,” Mandy reminded Mickey, as if he’d forgotten._ _

__“Yeah, and look where that got me.”_ _

__“Touché,” Mandy nodded. “But you’re doing well now. Don’t sell yourself short.”_ _

__“I don’t, but that don’t mean that Yev’s gotta learn the hard way like I did.”_ _

__“Inspirational father. You slay, Mickey Milk,” Olivia complimented, drawing the middle finger from  
a blushing Mickey._ _

__“Why do you want to hang out with a kid like that?” Ian asked Yev. “He’ll only pull you down.”_ _

__“Why did you?” Yevgeny questioned, all sass._ _

__“Well, first of all, I was a kid like that, too. It wasn’t just your dad. And second, I was trying to  
bang,” Ian admitted, earning him a look of disgust from his stepson. “You fucking asked, man.”_ _

__“I’m not trying to do that,” Yevgeny stated._ _

__“What are you trying to do then? Prove you’re some kinda tough kid?” Mickey asked._ _

__“Your last name does that on its own,” Mandy chimed in. “Do we still had that reputation?” she  
asked Ian, who nodded._ _

__“It’s a legacy,” he answered._ _

__“You can’t wipe that shit away,” Mickey added. “No matter how hard you fucking try.”_ _

__“It sounds like this kid isn’t worth the hassle,” Olivia shrugged. “I learned along time ago that when  
you mess around with fire you get burnt.”_ _

__“Queen of cliches,” Mandy teased._ _

__“That’s Ian,” Mickey corrected. “Did you miss his coronation?”_ _

__“Between the two of them there’s some fierce competition,” Mandy relented, laughing at Olivia’s  
faux insulted pout. “Why don’t you invite the one with the hots for Ian over, Yev? Everyone in the  
house can sit around and talk about how gorgeous he is.”_ _

__“Yeah I’ll pass,” Yevgeny replied, crinkling up his nose._ _

__“I’ll try not to be insulted by your disgust, Yevvy,” Ian grinned, taking a sip of his water._ _

__As inane as the conversation was it felt nice for Ian to be engaged in light banter that took his mind  
off everything it kept attempting to focus on, though he knew he shouldn’t. He knew if all hell broke  
loose again, the people in that room would have his back, and while it was a good feeling, he didn’t  
want them to have a reason to prove it._ _

__Doing his best to push thoughts of Theo to the back of his brain, Ian decided to try to have a nice  
night with the people who made it easier to believe he could. He reminded himself, again, that  
nothing had happened yet and willed himself to press forward either the delusion that nothing would._ _

__“How about instead of inviting a friend over you let me try to beat your ass at Doom,” Ian suggested,  
tilting his head at Yev._ _

__“It’s not even fair when you play me,” Yevgeny chuckled, “and beating you all the time has gotten  
mad boring.”_ _

__“You should play me and see if you have what it takes to get a V against me,” Olivia challenged  
Yev._ _

__“Are you serious right now?” Yevgeny laughed. “Do you think you actually have a chance?”_ _

__“Be careful, Yev. Liv’s a gamer,” Mandy informed him._ _

__“A gamer?” Ian asked surprised. “Since when?”_ _

__“I’d say birth, but realistically it was more like five,” Olivia replied, cracking her knuckles. “Are we  
doing this?”_ _

__Yevgeny shrugged. “I guess so.”_ _

__“Are you scared you’re going to get beat by a girl?” Olivia teased._ _

__“Not so much a girl, but it would be pretty embarrassing if a middle-aged woman took me down,”_ _

__Yev replied, causing everyone but Olivia to howl at the response._ _

__“Now it’s on,” Olivia decided. “No mercy.”_ _

__“No mercy,” Yevgeny agreed, shaking her outstretched hand._ _

__“I’m like fifteen to twenty years out from middle-aged, you little shit,” she added._ _

__“You’re closer than me,” Yev smirked._ _

__“And all of a sudden he’s Mickey,” Mandy said, bumping her nephew with her hip._ _

__“My smartass boys,” Ian crooned ruffling Yevgeny’s hair as he walked by to get Mickey another  
beer._ _

__His guys has grit and he wouldn’t have it any other way. He needed to channel some of it and keep it  
together. For them... and for himself._ _


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Eleven: You and Me

“Ian,” Mickey whispered, placing a kiss on each vertebrae of his husband’s spinal column.

“Hmm?” Ian hummed sleepily. “What time is it?”

“You don’t wanna know,” Mickey assured him, grinning at the sigh Ian emitted as he trailed down  
his mouth to his man’s tailbone.

The long weekend had been packed with Mandy, Olivia, and Yevgeny. While it had been nice to  
have a home full of happy people, and several distractions for Ian, Mickey couldn’t help but miss  
having his husband all to himself. He wasn’t convinced he would ever get enough of Ian, worried  
he’d always crave more than was humanly possible for anyone to give. It was as if he felt compelled  
to make up for every missed minute over the course of the years. Though the topic of children hadn’t  
come up in a while, Mickey hoped it never did again. There were few things he would want less  
than a baby in their lives, taking up their time, forcing them apart.

“What’re you doing?” Ian asked with a breathy chuckle as Mickey’s tongue continued into his crack.

“You already know that, don’t you?” Mickey flirted. “What I’m fucking doing... you already know.  
Turn over.”

Ian did as he was told, smiling up at Mickey as he yanked redhead’s legs up and rested them on his  
shoulders so to gain better access to Ian’s ass. “You’re doing my job.”

“You can’t eat your own ass.”

“I would rather eat yours anyway,” Ian said, letting his head fall back as Mickey licked a fat stripe  
over his exposed hole.

“Can’t let you have all the fun,” he replied, cupping his hand on Ian’s tight balls and massaging them  
gently as he circled his tongue around the puckered ring.

Peeking up as he went to work, Mickey watched as Ian licked his palm and dropped it to his dick,  
beginning to tug it rhythmically. That cock. He’d been obsessed with it since the moment he saw it  
all those years ago. No matter how well aquatinted he’d become with it since the first time, Mickey  
could still remember how shocked he was when skinny, little Ian Gallagher pulled down his boxers  
to reveal he was packing a big fucking pole in his pants. It had taken Mickey aback. How could it  
not have? A kid that cute should’ve never been blessed with a cock like that. It made it way too easy  
to fall for for him, which Mickey had and continued to do, over and over and over again.

“Fuck, that feels so good, Mick,” Ian complimented, pulling in a shaky inhale as Mickey continued  
to jam his tongue between his cheeks.

Peeling his lips off his husband, Mickey raised an eyebrow and said, “Tell me when when you’re  
close and I’ll swallow you down.”

“You’re don’t wanna fuck?” Ian asked surprised.

Mickey shrugged, “I mean, I’m always down to fuck, but I low key wanna make you feel good.”

“Low key?” Ian smirked. “Yev’s rubbing off on you, huh?”

“It’s kinda like, you know, quietly or some shit. Like sorta invested but not really.”

“I know what it means,” Ian laughed. “But you using it...”

“What about me using it?” Mickey challenged. “I like it. It makes sense. You keep laughing and  
you’re gonna high key piss me off.”

“High key,” Ian repeated, holding his side as he laughed harder.

“Means a-whole-fucking-lot,” he informed, unable to stop himself from chuckling, too. “Can I go  
back to rimming you now?”

Ian shook his head, still giggling. “What other phrases have you ganked from the middle school set?  
Are you going to start saying ‘literally’ after every statement?”

“If you don’t high key shut the fuck up I’m literally going to beat your ass instead of eat it,” Mickey  
retorted, smiling when Ian wrapped his arms around his waist and body-slammed him down to the  
bed.

“You’re talking a lot of shit for someone who should have his mouth full,” Ian noted, hunching over  
to slot their lips together.

Snaking his hand behind his husband’s head, Mickey pulled him in closer and slid his tongue into the  
hollow of Ian’s cheek.

Ian tilted his head, deepening the kiss even further, kissing Mickey warm, wet and wanton.

“I love kissing you, baby,” Mickey crooned, feeling the sentiment reverberate in his bones.

Sometimes he was in awe of the fact that he got to kiss Ian Gallagher... Ian Milkovich whenever he  
wanted, that there was no distance or time between them, that Ian was his and he was Ian’s... for life.

“I love you,” Ian promised, “Seriously, I high key love you, literally, so much.”

“Fuck off,” Mickey tsked, rolling his eyes as Ian attacked him with smooches. “You think you’re a  
funny guy, don’t you?”

“I know I am,” he corrected. “You think I am too.” Slowly, Ian began to roll his hips so his cock  
knocked against Mickey’s as their kisses grew more passionate.

“You like telling me what I think, don’t you?” Mickey whispered, moaning as Ian began to suck on  
the spot of his neck that drove him absolutely crazy.

“Yeah.”

“Tell me what I’m thinking about right now then.”

“You’re thinking about my dick leaking all over yours and how you want me to lap that shit up,” Ian  
said, his voice muffled by skin. He laughed when Mickey started put pressure on his shoulders,  
pushing him down. “I’ll take that as a confirmation that I’m right.”

“That wasn’t what I was thinking about, but now I am, so get to it,” Mickey smirked, instantly  
sighing when Ian took his cock into his mouth. “I was supposed to be taking care of you.”

“Taking care of you is me taking care of myself,” Ian said, licking the length of Mickey’s shaft. “My  
everything.”

“Mmm,” Mickey groaned, tangling his fingers in Ian’s hair as he bobbed on his cock. “Fuck. How  
did I get so goddamn lucky?”

“It started with a gun and tire iron. You were a cocky motherfucker,” Ian reminded him taking  
Mickey back down his throat.

“You made me weak way before that,” Mickey admitted. “Fucked around in the Kash n Grab to see  
your goofy ass.”

“You fucked around in the Kash n Grab to steal Pringles and Gatorade,” Ian disagreed, sitting up to  
study his husband’s face. “You had Kash by the balls so it was easier to just get your shit there.”

“I wanted to have you by the balls, but it never hurt that Kash was a fucking pussy,” Mickey replied,  
rubbing his forehead. “I can’t believe you fucked the dude.”

“I was fourteen,” Ian stated as if it was an excuse and not an abomination.

“My dick’s getting soft. Pedophelia will low key kill wood.”

“It wasn’t like that,” Ian protested, taking Mickey’s semi into his hand and beginning to pump it.

“Why are we talking about this again?”

“I don’t know, but I’m not into it anymore,” Mickey decided, knocking Ian’s hand off and tucking  
himself under the covers.

“You woke me up and now you’re going back to bed and leaving me with this?” Ian exclaimed,  
gesturing down to his hard-on.

“You were two years older than Yev, fucking some Slurpee seller, thinking you were in love. That’s  
some twisted shit.”

“That’s some South Side shit,” he corrected, yanking the comforter off Mickey so he could cuddle  
into his body. “And who said anything about love? I’ve only loved you. My whole life, you’re the  
only person I’ve ever been in love with.”

Mickey raised one eyebrow, an indication that he didn’t forget the Theodore in the room.

“Don’t,” Ian warned.

“Don’t make some crazy ass statements when I know they’re not true,” Mickey warned right back.  
“I’m not gonna fucking lay here like a tool and not call you out on your bullshit.”

“I never loved him like I love you,” Ian insisted. “He never owned me like you do. My heart, my  
body, he never had me all the way because you always did.”

“But you were gonna marry him...”

“Fuck you,” Ian spat, turning over abruptly and taking the blanket with him.

“You’re not into hearing the truth right now?” Mickey asked, tugging the blanket back. “I’ll lie to  
you then. Kash wasn’t a Chester and you weren’t engaged to Senator Silver Sally.”

“I hate you,” Ian pouted.

“You’re lying too then,” Mickey stated, wrapping himself, and the comforter, around Ian’s back.  
“All I wanted to do was eat your hole.”

“Maybe it’s a full moon.”

“If it was my face would still be in your crack.”

Ian giggled despite himself. “I love you.”

“That was a quick turnaround,” Mickey noted. “Hate to love in three seconds.”

“Just hold me, alright?” Ian said with a yawn. “Tight.”

Mickey gave Ian a constrictor squeeze before kissing his shoulder blade softly. “I love you.”

They laid in silence for a pause, both lost in thoughts bigger than the moment, about the mistakes  
they made, their pasts, their future.

“What made us the way we are?” Ian wondered, his voice tentative as if the question was an assault  
on the quiet of their bedroom.

“I don’t know,” Mickey answered honestly, thinking life would be much easier if they could  
pinpoint one impetus. “There’s a shit ton of things if could be.”

“I wish I didn’t think about this so much,” Ian admitted, “It was easier when I wasn’t thinking at all.”

“I know.”

“Thank fuck I have you.”

“Thank fuck,” Mickey agreed. “Me and you, man.”

“Me and you.”

Chapter Twelve: Aspirations

When Theo had called Ian to set up a lunch, Ian knew what he and his ex-fiancé would be  
discussing. He wished Theo would have just told him over the phone and ripped the bandaid off, but  
everything was far more complicated than that. Ian had begged Mickey to come, knowing his  
husband would be just as impacted by what was to come as he was. Surprisingly, Mickey had  
agreed, but his work schedule made having the meeting in a timely fashion completely impossible,  
thus Ian was left to face the inevitable all on his own.

As soon as he entered Luciano’s Cucina, the hostess led him to a private room where Theo,  
Margaret, and Sean were already seated, engaged deeply in conversation.

“Hey,” Ian greeted, awkwardly shoving his hands into his pockets. Somehow he became very aware  
of the ring adorning his finger, a symbol that had became so much a part of him that he typically  
forgot it was there.

Theo knew he was married. It wasn’t like Ian was trying to hide the fact. It was more that facing his  
ex made Ian recall that he’d once worn a ring that Theo gave him, a ring he should have never  
accepted.

“Ian,” Theo said, hurrying to his feet. His tone was less formal than Ian had wished it would be,  
especially in the company of the public relations pitbulls who remained seated at the large mahogany  
circular table.

It seemed as though Theo was going to hug him, but at the last moment the senator thought better of  
it and extended his hand. Dutifully, Ian shook it, wondering if it was Theo’s palm that was clammy  
or his own.

“Man, you look good,” Theo muttered, shaking his head at the sight of Ian.

Ian didn’t know how to respond, so he said, “you, too,” even though it was a lie. Theo looked  
exhausted, with bags under his grey eyes and a pale hue to his typically tan skin. If Ian hadn’t  
already convinced himself of the topic of discussion, he would have thought Theo had asked him  
there to tell Ian he was ill, though there would be no reason to do so. Their lives were no longer tied  
together the way they had been, and yet, they still were in so many ways.

“Have a seat,” Theo directed, gesturing toward an empty chair at the table. “You remember Margaret  
and Sean?”

Ian had spent years of his life living under their thumbs, placed under a microscope they used to  
tighten and control Theo’s image.

“I couldn’t forget them even if I tried,” Ian said. He had tried and it was true. Margaret appeared  
unamused by his statement, while Sean seemed to want to smile, but remembered that he shouldn’t...  
so he didn’t.

“We could say the same for you.”

“And lord have we tried. The press just won’t let go.”

“You’re still the most interesting part of me, I suppose,” Theo figured in a way that revealed how  
raw the statement was.

Ian cleared his throat. “I’m sure that’s not true. I’m guessing that I’m here to hear some interesting  
news.”

“Some amazing news,” Sean corrected, beaming at Theo.

Draping a napkin over his lap, Ian nodded a thank you to the waiter who placed a steaming hot roll  
on his bread plate. “I’m looking forward to hearing it then.”

He wasn’t.

“Well, I decided that now is as good a time as any to throw my hat in the ring for the presidency. I’ll,  
of course, need to win the democratic primaries to get on the big ticket, but the intention is that in a  
year from November, I’ll be the president-elect.”

“That’s...” Ian searched for words when all that was in his head was scrambled emotions, “wow.”  
He’d known that was why he was there, but hearing Theo actually say it out loud was jarring.

“President of the United States of America. Wow.”

“Yes. It’s a long-shot considering, you know, I’m gay, but the pollsters seem to think I have a  
chance.”

“A great chance,” Margaret stated. “And that’s why we need to get all our ducks in a row.”

“I’m a duck,” Ian mused, mostly to himself. He wished it would have been fully to himself when he  
earned a death-glare from Margaret.

“You’re more like the king goose,” Sean interjected. “You should be a duck, but somehow you’re  
more important than all the rest, and louder.”

“Enough of the ducks,” Theo chided. “Let’s move on with this, alright?”

His advisors nodded, sitting tight lipped as the waiter delivered several plates of family style food. As  
soon as he exited, the conversation was back on.

“So, while we wish it could be avoided, you’re still a part of the narrative,” Sean began, “and you’ll  
need to be trained in how to field the press that will be coming your way. We’re talking everything  
you went through a few years ago with the local papers times ten. We’ll be grappling with national  
and international news syndicates and gossip sites.”

“We’re asking Ian if he will participate in training,” Theo reminded Sean. He turned to look at Ian.

“You don’t have to do any of this, but it won’t go away if you ignore it. I want you to have the right  
tools to deal with what comes.”

“And we want you to say the right things,” Margaret added. “Things that won’t sabotage Theo more  
than you already have.”

“Maggie,” Theo warned.

“It’s okay,” Ian mumbled, his throat tightening from the anxiety. “Tell me what I need to do.”

“First of all, have some salmon,” Theo suggested, placing the tongs on a piece of fish and offering it  
to Ian.

“Thanks,” Ian said, holding up his plate so the older man could serve him. Though he didn’t have an  
appetite, he intended to choke it down.

The senator served Margaret and Sean, while Ian wondered if he was purposely trying to stall or if  
he had recently turned into an Italian grandmother.

“We don’t have all day,” Margaret bristled as she took a bite of the food. “We need to get finished  
with this so we can take care of the rest of our to do list.” She turned to look Ian dead in the eye.

“We want you to take the same approach you did when the story broke a few years ago.”

“Addiction , Bipolar, rough childhood. Those are the focus points,” Sean added. “When asked about  
what happened, say you were in a dark place in your life and you regret pulling Senator Goodwyn  
down with you.”

“That’s harsh,” Theo admonished. “Try again.”

“Where’s the lie?” Margaret pressed. “They will hound him. He can’t simply say ‘no comment.’ It  
won’t do. This is a presidential campaign. If we try to ignore something your rivals will exacerbate  
it.”

“I don’t want to tell the whole world about my skeletons,” Ian said softly.

“Well, you should have thought about that before you entered into a relationship with a man who  
had political aspirations. We were forthright regarding the implications since the beginning,”

Margaret stated. “They’ll already know all about you, it’s just how you approach the knowledge.”

“Okay, okay,” Theo sighed, dropping his fork and letting it clank on the plate. “I didn’t invite Ian  
here so we could berate him.”

“There’s a difference between honesty and degradation,” Sean told Theo, who shook his head. “Ian  
is a treasure trove of opposition for your opponents. This needs to be handled.”

“Is the mob about to storm through the door and light me up?” Ian asked, only half kidding. “Is that  
how you’re planning to ‘handle’ me?”

“Don’t be silly,” Margaret said, unamused.

They all took sips of their drinks, as if attempting to settle into some collective thought.

“Are you still married to the man you cheated with?” Sean asked, glancing down at the folder beside  
his plate. “Mickey Milkovich? I couldn’t find any paperwork for divorce.”

“Because there aren’t any papers for divorce,” Ian huffed, insulted by the assumption. “We’re very  
happily married. I did a lot of stupid shit when I was manic and high but being with Mickey was  
never one of them. He’s the love of my life.” Glancing in Theo’s direction, he muttered a “sorry,”  
which Theo promptly waved off.

“It’s been a while,” the senator stated, but Ian easily saw beyond his words. “Maybe you could just  
say something like that, something about making bad decisions in the past but how now you’re  
healthy and happy.”

Margaret sighed. “If he does that, it would be nice if he could throw you a bone and say that he kept  
more secrets from you than just his cheating. That you weren’t aware of the stripping, porn, army  
debacle. It would be nice if voters thought you were oblivious instead of questioning your decision  
making skills.”

“He was honest about all of that,” Theo said, shaking his head. “I’m not going to paint him as a liar.”

“Not a liar, an omitter,” Sean corrected.

“It’s fine,” Ian decided. “I’ll tell people I didn’t tell you if that would make things better.”

“It would,” Margaret said, looking expectantly at Theo. “It would be very helpful.”

“Only if you’re comfortable,” Theo began tentatively.

Ian nodded. “Do you really think this will be the focus?”

“Undoubtedly,” Sean confirmed. “This is all they have on Theo. They’ll try to exploit it from every  
angle.”

“Great,” Ian grumbled, pushing the fish around on his plate.

“Here’s a list of what we ask of you,” Margaret said tersely, sliding a document across the table  
toward Ian.

Perusing over the list of rules and expectations, Ian began to feel nauseous and overwhelmed. He  
wasn’t ready to face a nation of assholes who were intent to pry into his past. He was so different  
than he’d been then. He’d changed so much, yet, he knew it didn’t matter. People wanted to believe  
the salacious scandals rather than focus on the capacity humans had for growth.

“Is that all?” Ian asked, clearing his throat.

Theo and his team nodded and Ian rose to his feet.

“Let me walk you out,” Theo offered, but his handlers both immediately barked “no.”

“We don’t need somebody snapping a picture,” Sean reminded, placing his hand on Theo’s elbow.

“He’s a big boy, Theo. He’ll be fine.”

“You’ll be fine won’t you, Ian?” Margaret asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I’ll be fine,” Ian confirmed, feeling anything but.

Ian would talk to Mickey. Mickey would know what to do. Then he’d be fine.

Chapter Thirteen: I’m Okay, if You’re Okay  
Trigger warning: Suicidal thoughts

Mickey was buried in an obscene amount of pre-event paperwork and despite needing to give his full  
attention to the work, his attempt to focus on the tasks at hand were futile considering how often he  
was checking for texts from Ian. Though he typically kept his phone on vibrate, he’d turned the  
ringer and alerts up to their highest levels. Despite the fact that he was guaranteed notification,  
Mickey still found himself glancing at the screen, worried that he’d missed a text or call from his  
husband.

Ian had to tried to play off how anxious he was about his meeting with Theo but Mickey could see  
through the thinly veiled act and it killed him that he couldn’t be there for Ian to alleviate some of the  
stress. Or at least that was what Mickey has kept telling himself on a mission to suppress the other  
reasons he wanted to sit at a table with the politician and his handlers. All those snakes had been  
around Ian for years and Mickey found it difficult to believe that they hadn’t known exactly what  
was up with Ian. Theo had played it off like he didn’t see what was right in front of him, but Mickey  
was sure that the savvy advisors surrounding the then Lt. Governor were well aware of Ian’s  
addiction. Ian had told Mickey that even when shit was good between he and Theo the strategists  
didn’t like him. Ian had always made their jobs difficult and Mickey knew that the drugs were a big  
part of that—even before the very obvious issues had started to be impossible to ignore. Mickey  
wondered if they’d approached Theo about Ian’s issues or if they’d willfully overlooked his drug  
abuse while simultaneously trying to keep Ian as controlled as they could, knowing that a boyfriend  
in rehab would be trouble for Theo’s reputation. None of them gave a shit about Ian and now they  
were going to pretend like they did—again—to better their chances of getting to the White House.  
As sickening as it was, Mickey knew he wouldn’t give it a second thought if it wasn’t Ian in the  
situation. There were a lot worse things that a person could do than ignore someone’s drug issues.  
Hell, Ian and Mickey hadn’t given a shit about plenty of the junkies in their lives—case in point,  
Frank. But it was a different when it was Ian. Everything was different when it pertained to his  
husband. It wasn’t like Theo’s advisors had known the Ian that Mickey knew when they were  
growing up, the guy who did hundreds of sit-ups a day in hopes of getting into West Point and was  
more driven than any kid from the South Side had the right to be. They probably wouldn’t have  
given a shot about him even if they did know him then. After all, he would have just been poor,  
white trash in their eyes. And now they needed him—that poor bipolar addict from the South Side.  
They were going to finally act like he had value because he could be the only thing standing in the  
way of their precious upper crust meal ticket.

Mickey shook his head. It was better that he couldn’t go to the lunch. He would’ve fucking laid Theo  
out for allowing Ian to be a part of the conversation. The public could demand whatever they  
wanted, it didn’t mean they had to serve Ian up on a silver platter. There was no doubt in Mickey’s  
mind that Theo has hired the smartest people in the game, even if they were smarmy pieces of shit.  
They had to have the ability to spin things away from Ian’s direction. Couldn’t they write a goddamn  
speech that addressed the talking points without pushing Ian back onto the stage. There was a  
chance that was what they were cooking up, but it seemed unlikely considering that they were  
having a sit down. If they thought it would be beneficial to handle things a different way, without Ian  
involved at all, they wouldn’t have involved him...at all. Not being able to protect Ian was torturous  
for Mickey. As much as he’d tried in the past, it wasn’t until the recent years that he felt that he was  
able to do it ef ectively, which in turn felt like redemption for the amount of times Mickey blames  
himself for letting Ian down during their younger years. Realistically, he understood that he’d done  
all that he could at the time but it still wasn’t a sore point. Ian’s diagnosis was hulking at first, but  
Mickey had read up on everything and believed that he could be an anchor for someone who was  
impossible to tie down. He thought he could handle Ian’s bipolar until Ian didn’t give him a chance  
to try. They’d come a long way, but Mickey’s feelings of inadequacy didn’t dissipate with time,  
despite having been through several swings with Ian since they’d been back together. He feared it  
was a never ending cycle of hurt feelings and impossible expectations—one that wouldn’t get an  
easier with the whole country involved.

The text tone interrupted Mickey from the work he wasn’t doing and the thoughts he wished he  
wasn’t trapped in. Unfortunately, the message was much worse than whatever pain Mickey was  
inflicting on himself.

Ian (3:22pm): I wanna fucking die.

The words punched Mickey harder than fists ever had. If someone else had uttered the same phrase  
to him, Mickey might have just chalked it up as hyperbole, but when it came from Ian it carried  
weight, enough weight that Mickey’s chest ached under it. Not wasting time text back, he called his  
husband.

“What happened?” Mickey demanded as soon as Ian answered the phone. “What did they say to  
you?”

“A lot of stuff,” Ian replied. He sounded defeated, which meant Mickey couldn’t be.

“Like what?”

“Don’t you have a lot work to concentrate on?”

“Oh yeah, cause I’m gonna put that shit first when you send me a text like that,” Mickey snarked,  
regretting the sarcasm as soon as it left his lips.

“Sorry my feelings are such an inconvenience to you,” Ian hissed. “Believe me, if you’re annoyed  
about it now it’s only gonna get worse.”

Mickey knew that the conversation was escalating and headed in the wrong direction, so he tried to  
steer it back on course. “I meant that I’m worried about you. That’s what I meant by that.”

“You don’t have to worry about me.”

This was the Ian he hated, the petulant child that picked fights when he was overwhelmed.

Mickey sighed, rubbing his forehead as he asked, “Aren’t we past this, Gallagher?”

“Gallagher, huh?”

“Oh come the fuck on, Ian,” Mickey groaned. “Tell me what happened.”

“It’s a lot to tell,” Ian said coolly.

“I got time.” Staring at the files on his desk, Mickey knew that was a lie.

“No you don’t, but you will later so I’ll tell you later.” His tone had softened, as if he was realizing  
that Mickey was far from the enemy. “I’m okay. It’s just a lot.”

“Yeah it is,” Mickey agreed. “Were they assholes to you?”

“Not really.”

“But sorta?” Mickey prodded, the anger bubbling up in his throat.

“Just the usual attitude from Margaret and Sean. They gave me this list of...” Ian paused, “I don’t  
know? Expectations or something.”

“Did you rip it up and throw it in their fucking faces?”

“No, I’m tired.”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“I don’t know,” Ian admitted.

“I should have been there.”

“You definitely shouldn’t have been there. You probably would’ve gotten arrested. Which would be  
more awful than any of this shit.”

“What’re you doing now?”

Ian sighed. “I don’t know.”

“I should come home.”

“I’m fine.”

Mickey knew not to push, but he couldn’t help but remind Ian of how the conversation had started.  
“You said you wanted to die.”

“I think I’m being dramatic.”

“You think you are or you are?”

“I said I think I am.”

“Well, then I’m coming home.”

“You can’t,” Ian cried. “No, no, no. You have a lot going on there. I’ll be fine. I’m fine.”

Mickey closed his eyes and racked his brain on what he should do. It was rare for Ian to say shit like  
that when he wasn’t low, which freaked Mickey out even more.

“I’m just stressed out,” Ian promised. “The meeting was a lot.”

At his core, Mickey believed his husband, but it was horrifying to consider the “what ifs.”

“If you need me at home, I’m there. You know that,” Mickey began slowly.

“Of course I do,” Ian assured him. “I love you. I would never do anything to hurt myself because it  
would hurt you too much.”

Mickey cringed. It wasn’t exactly a reassuring statement, but the tone of Ian’s voice did settle Mickey  
a bit. The darkness that has present so many times before wasn’t there, not even a tinge.

“I shouldn’t have texted you that,” Ian continued. “I was overreacting.”

“Okay,” Mickey whispered. “What are you gonna do now?”

“Go home.”

“Can you do me a favor?”

“Yeah.”

“Yev has that game on near Millennium Park. Can you go check it out?”

“I thought it was tomorrow?”

“It was moved to today.”

“Oh, really? Yeah, of course. I love watching him.”

“I know.”

Mickey knew Ian was privy to what he was trying to do and his husband was smart enough not to  
argue, knowing that if he did it was only worry Mickey more.

“I love you, Mick.”

“I love you, too. Text me when you get there, okay? And send a few pictures.”

“Of me or Yev?”

Mickey laughed. “Both.”

Ian chuckled, too, which made Mickey smile through the fear.

“So, you’re going over there?” Mickey asked.

“Yes,” Ian replied solidly. “We’ll see you when you get home.”

“Alright.”

“Everything’s okay,” Ian reiterated. “I’m okay.”

“Then I’m okay, too.”

Mickey hung up the phone and rested his forehead on the file in front of him, aware that they were  
both lying.

Chapter Fourteen: The White Devil

Ian knew pictures from the game were proof that he wasn’t doing something awful, and Ian hated  
that he’d made Mickey worry that it was something he was capable of. Even at his worst, he’d never  
attempted suicide. Well, not in any of the conventional ways. Instead, he’d given his body to  
substance that abused it worse than he ever could on his own. And that shit was all he could think  
about as he rode the L to the North Side. It would be easy to score an 8-Ball from one of his old  
contacts. It probably wouldn’t hit him hard. He needed to take the edge off and coke was so good at  
doing that for him. People used it recreationally all of the time. It’s not like he would bump a few  
lines and become a fiend again. He could handle it. He wanted to handle it on a key and put it right  
up his nose.

Fishing his phone out of his pocket, he shot off a text to a guy named Turk who was known for his  
discretion.

Ian (3:47pm): u holding?  
Turk (3:48pm): Shit is this a ghost?  
Ian (3:48pm): Might as well be  
Turk (3:49pm): I got some stuff  
Ian (3:49pm): the stuff i like?  
Turk (3:50pm): You still got that budget?  
Ian (3:51pm): You’re not gonna see me after this.  
Turk (3:52pm): One and done means you gotta do it right lol  
Ian (3:52pm): Right  
Turk (3:53pm): Can you come through in the next 15 mins? I got somewhere to be.  
Ian (3:53pm): No prob. C U in 5.

Ian lit a cigarette as soon as he disembarked. Mickey was going to kill him. No, Mickey would only  
kill him if he found out, so Ian had to make sure that that didn’t happen. He’d go to Yev’s game for a  
while, do a couple of hits afterward, and then go home once the coke burned off. He wouldn’t even  
do the whole bag. He’d flush whatever was left down the toilet as soon as he walked in the house.  
Maybe he would buy a gram rather than an eighth. That way he wouldn’t even be tempted to do any  
more than the bare minimum it took to get him high. It wouldn’t be a big deal. He wouldn’t even  
have to lie to Mickey because his husband wouldn’t have anything to ask about.

He hit the ATM under Turk’s building, and then climbed the familiar staircase to the second floor.  
Knocking on the door, Ian grinned when the big dude answered.

“Long time no see, IG,” Turk greeted, giving Ian a handshake that led to a hug. “It’s been years.”

“It has,” Ian agreed, a pang of guilt hitting him in the chest. He considered if partaking in a little  
powder was worth the 586 days he had clean.

“Are you sure you want to revisit the white devil?” Turk appeared to be tentative to sell to Ian, which  
Ian found aggravating. Why was everyone always trying to make decisions for him?

“She’s more of an angel to me,” Ian remarked.

Turk shrugged and pulled a bag out of his pocket. “It’s that fire you like so much. Gonna run you  
$380.”

Ian handed him the exact cash and took the bag into his possession. Through the ziploc, he squished  
the powder between his fingers, in disbelief that it was actually in his hand. “Wanna bump?” he  
offered. It was good manners to share.

“You know I don’t cut into my profits, but since you already paid...” Turk guffawed and gestured for  
Ian to serve him up.

Dipping his key into the cocaine, Ian couldn’t stop thinking about Mickey—about how pissed he  
would be if he found out, about all of the coke they did together when they growing up, about how  
much he wished theirs lives never got complicated. He pushed the thoughts away as he held the key  
up for Turk to take a hit.

“Damn, I forgot how good it is,” Turk sighed, throwing his head back.

Ian hadn’t. As soon as the powder was past his nostrils, he was right where he always remembered  
being and was good to be back.

He said goodbye to Turk and descended the stairs.

So what if Ian had bought an 8-ball instead of a gram? There was more value in larger quantities  
anyway. It would have been a waste to buy a gram when he could get three times the amount at a  
cheaper cost per gram. It was simple math. But it would fuck up the whole equation if he flushed the  
remaining two grams down the toilet. That would literally be money down the drain and though they  
were doing well, they didn’t have money to piss away. It would be irresponsible to get rid of good  
cocaine—amazing cocaine. He took another key before exiting to the street.

Chicago was beautiful in the summer. The blustery winter winds gave way to gentle breezes and the  
city was alive in a way it never could be in cold grey days. The sun kissed his now hyper skin as it  
jumped of his bones in anticipation of nothing in particular. Every nerve in his body was suddenly  
aware that they were there and he was teeming with excitement. He couldn’t wait to see Yevgeny  
play baseball—America’s favorite pastime.

As Ian approached the field he wondered what it would have been like to play on AstroTurf back in  
his little league days. Their field had gotten better over the years but the grass was patchy at best  
and the diamond was rarely painted. Yevgeny lived a good life full of turf, baseball, friends, and  
Mickey. He was luckier than they had ever been and Ian couldn’t be more proud of Mickey for  
making sure he stayed that way.

The game was already in full swing when Ian took a seat on the bleachers. He waved at Yevgeny  
who smiled in his direction and then grabbed his phone to fulfill his duty. Snapping a picture of the  
kid, Ian shot it of to Mickey and then turned the camera around to send one of himself. He decided  
to go with his go to pose of giving his husband the middle finger and chuckled when he was done.  
He could see Mickey’s smile in his head, but he wanted to see it for real.

Ian (4:37pm): Now send me 1  
Mickey (4:39pm): I’m at work. U look good.  
Ian (4:39pm): I feel good  
Mickey (4:39pm): Oh yeah?  
Ian (4:40pm): Yeah but I’d feel better if you sent me 1  
Mickey (4:40pm): it's like that?  
Ian (4:41pm): Definitely  
Mickey (4:41pm): Gimme a few mins

Ian grinned when Mickey followed through, rubbing his finger along his husband’s perfect jaw line  
as he made a funny face for the camera. Fondness was replaced by a crashing wave of sadness so  
quickly that the change nearly gave Ian whiplash. Mickey had such a beautiful face even when he  
was disappointed in Ian. The thought was too much to handle, at least unassisted.

Excusing himself as he walked in front of other spectators, Ian made his way of of the bleachers so  
he could duck behind them. He and Mickey had spent their fair share of time shaded by slats of  
metal while doing illicit things under a crowd. Ian wondered why it felt so different to be there alone.  
No matter where he went, feelings seemed to follow and he don’t want them around anymore.  
Doing double of what he had done earlier, Ian ensured that his emotions would be kept at bay. He  
spent the remainder of the game intermittently leaning on the fence to watch and dipping away. By  
the time the teams were lined up to shake hands, Ian had no idea who had won or if he was still  
watching the same game he’d starting watching however long ago that was. He did know that  
Yevgeny was waving him over, so he walked over, like he was supposed to.

“Good game!” Ian congratulated, giving his stepson a hearty hug.

“We got slaughtered,” Yevgeny said, his voice flitting into the sunset painted sky.

“Huh?”

“We lost,” Yev repeated.

“Well, you played,” Ian stated.

“Uh. Yeah, I did.”

“So, that’s good.” He glanced at the kid who had a crush on him and gave him a thumbs up. “And  
you played too. Good!”

“What’s wrong with your mouth? You’re grinding your teeth or something.”

Ian was confused. He had no idea what Yevgeny was talking about or why he was talking at all.

“My mom’s coming to get me as soon as she’s done with work. A bunch of us were going to go  
across the street to get some ice cream,” Yevgeny said. “You can come if you want.”

“No, no, I just wanted to watch you play. I don’t want to interrupt your time with your friends.”

Yevgeny gave him another hug, which was awesome because Yev didn’t always do that shit and Ian  
loved it when he did. “Well, thanks for coming.”

“Thanks for playing,” Ian replied. “It makes us happy.”

“Uh good,” Yev replied, regarding Ian quizzically.

Noticing the look on Yevgeny’s face, Ian told him, “You’re almost a teenager,” which made him  
appear to be more confused. “You’ll be a teenager soon and that’s just crazy.”

Ian didn’t wait for Yevgeny’s response because he didn’t have anything else to say back. He didn’t  
want things to get weird, so he walked away. And he kept walking. The sun fell and the moon rised  
as Ian wandered aimlessly around the North Side, enjoying the sights, sounds, and smells of no  
worries.

Before boarding the L to head home, Ian dropped the empty baggie in a trashcan, wondering where  
all the coke had gone. He stumbled onto the car and flopped down in a seat. Life was so simple  
when he was riding above it.

Chapter Fifteen: Coming Clean

When Mickey reached out to Yevgeny to ask if he’d gotten a chance to talk to Ian at the game, Yev  
had told him that Ian was acting “kinda weird,” which, of course, worried Mickey. However, that  
worry paled in comparison to the stress Mickey had to deal with when Ian didn’t answer any of his  
texts or calls. Pacing the living room, he tried to figure out what the fuck to do. He had no clue  
where his husband was. He’d called Sam and Moe to ask them if they’d seen him, which was a  
mistake because they hadn’t, and the question had led to about a hundred more from his friends. He  
knew that they were coming from a good place with their concerns, but it wasn’t what Mickey  
wanted to deal with and it only led to dealing with more shit that he didn’t want to do deal like  
texting Ian’s siblings. As expected, none of them had seen his husband and all of them were now  
concerned about his whereabouts. A call to CUT and another report of no Ian had pushed Mickey  
over the edge and into a panic. He considered downloading a police scanner, but the thought was  
too morbid to give much credence to. Going out to search for the redhead seemed like the best  
course of action, except he had no clue where the fuck he would be, plus he wanted to be there when  
Ian got home.

“Fuck it,” he muttered, taking the stairs by twos so he could grab his wallet from the bedroom. He  
didn’t know what to do but standing around and doing nothing wasn’t getting anything done. There  
was no way he was going to let Ian leave the house again without sharing his location. It had  
seemed unnecessary considering how closely they kept in touch throughout their days, but Mickey  
regretted not making Ian turn it on earlier that afternoon.

Mickey looked at his phone screen one more time and sighed when he confirmed that there was  
nothing from Ian. He was about to call him again when he heard the familiar creak of the front door  
opening. Nearly tripping over his own feet as he rushed downstairs, Mickey stopped dead in his  
tracks as soon as he caught sight of Ian.

“You gotta be kidding me,” he rasped, wishing his eyes were playing tricks on him.

“Hi,” Ian greeted, as if he wasn’t standing in the foyer with glassy irises, blown out pupils, and a  
series of blood stains on the hem of his white t-shirts.

“Where have you been?” Mickey demanded, but it didn’t matter. It was obvious what his husband  
had been doing. “And what’s with the blood?”

Ian glanced down at his shirt and nervously tried to scrub it of with the palm of his hand. “Oh this?  
I, uh, cut my finger on something.”

“You cut your finger on something,” Mickey repeated, nodding his head as he tried to keep control  
of the impulse to punch Ian in his lying mouth. Reaching for the hands he held on his wedding day,  
Mickey checked the skin, unsurprised that there were no lacerations.

“What?” Ian grunted, yanking away from Mickey’s tightening grasp.

“You’re a fucking liar and you’re high as hell.”

Ian shook his head vehemently at the accusation. “I’m not…”

Interrupting, Mickey stated, “Yeah, you’re a fucking liar.”

Ian continued to rattle of his bullshit as Mickey sunk to a squat, resting his forehead on his  
fingertips. He had to keep it under control. Ian was out of control and he needed to hold shit down,  
to keep it together. He needed to do it for both of them when all he wanted to do was to allow his  
shaking hands to wring his husband’s neck. It was an addiction. He had to remember that it was an  
addiction, that sometimes the drug was stronger than the person it tempted. The knowledge didn’t  
make Mickey any less angry in the moment, and he hated himself for it.

“How could you throw everything away?” Mickey grumbled, keeping his head down. It was too  
painful to look at Ian in the state he was in.

“What do you mean throw everything away?” Ian asked, his tone slightly panicked. The fear rapidly  
gave way to a sadistic snarl, “You’re gonna leave me for doing a little bit of cocaine after an awful  
fucking day? That’s how much I mean to you, huh? We did coke together for years, Mick, and now  
you’re so above it all? So much better than me because you never made a habit of it?”

The anger. Mickey knew this part well and the last thing he wanted to do was deal with it. He was  
exhausted from the worry and his crazy long day at work, but that didn’t stop Ian from pushing. The  
redhead was far enough gone that he was fiending for a fight and Mickey didn’t want to give it to  
him.

“I’m talking about your sobriety, dickhead,” Mickey answered, standing up so Ian could see the  
aggravation on his face. “Remember that? You worked on it for a while.”

“Like I said, it was only a little bit of coke. I got it outta my system and I’m not gonna do it again.”

He pushed past Mickey and began to climb the stairs. “It’s not a big deal.”

Having had enough of the night, Ian, and his shitty fucking attitude, Mickey followed his husband up  
to their room and kicked the door open as Ian tried to slam it in his face. It was maddening and  
Mickey could only do so much to swallow down how angry he was at the disrespect. Thinking better  
of it—but unable to control his emotions any longer—he threw Ian against the wall and kept him  
there with a strong arm pressed across his husband’s toned chest.

“It is a big deal,” Mickey yelled, pushing his arm in harder as Ian tried to move away. “It’s a big  
fucking deal that you had a bad day and needed to get high because of it. It’s a big fucking deal that  
you went to my kid’s baseball game high of your stupid ass. It’s a big fucking deal that you’re  
telling me it’s ‘not a big deal’ when you know damn well it is.” He rolled his eyes, “Or maybe you’ll  
know it when the goddamn poison you packed up your beak burns of . Shit, you’ll definitely know it  
then, but I know a lot of shit now.”

“Yeah?” Ian challenged, stretching so their height difference was even more pronounced. “What do  
you know?”

“Well, first of , tough guy, I know that you’re going to regret the shit out of this, every single part of  
it.”

“That sounds like a threat.”

Laughing sardonically, Mickey mused, “Oh does it? It’s not. It’s the truth.”

“I wasn’t even high at the game,” Ian said, seemingly unconcerned by Mickey’s assertion. “I got the  
cocaine afterward.”

Unable to control them, hot tears began to well in Mickey’s eyes. He shouldn’t have engaged in any  
sort of back-and-forth with Ian while he was that high. It was frustrating as fuck and getting them  
nowhere but on the wrong track. He had to stop and wait until Ian was sober to talk about all the  
shit that they needed to discuss. There was nothing he wanted less than the conversation they had to  
have.

Letting go of Ian, Mickey willed himself to walk away. Though his feet were tentative to start the  
process, eventually they listened to his mind’s plea. Mickey collected his pillow and exited the room  
to go and sleep in Yevgeny’s.

“Where are you going?” Ian called after him.

“For once tonight, use your fucking brain,” Mickey yelled back kicking Yevgeny’s door closed.

The sound of Ian’s footsteps headed his way had Mickey turning the lock and throwing himself down  
on the bed.

“Why are you being like this?” Ian screamed, pounding his fists against the wood. “Open up.”

“I can’t fucking look at you anymore, man,” Mickey groaned. “Go lay down and we’ll talk  
tomorrow morning.” As soon as the words escaped his mouth, Mickey heard what he was asking for  
and knew he wasn’t going to get it. There was no way the speedy motherfucker would be able to  
sleep. At best, he would clean the whole house down to the grout, and at worst he would fuck of and  
Mickey would be stuck in a worse position than he had been a half hour earlier.

Reluctantly, he opened the door and crossed his arms over his chest as Ian regarded him pitifully.

“I know I fucked up,” Ian whispered. “And I can’t lay down.”

Mickey sighed. “I can’t talk to you right now.”

“Go to sleep and we’ll talk in the morning,” Ian suggested, sounding more human than he had  
moments prior.

“Right.” He knew that he couldn’t, that he was in it for the long run that night. “How about I help  
you burn of some of that energy instead?”

Ian lifted his eyebrows, surprised by the proposition. “You wanna fuck?”

Scoffing, Mickey shook his head and delivered forceful, “No.” He walked downstairs with Ian  
following close behind him.

“So, what do you want to do?” Ian questioned as Mickey leaned down to get cleaning supplies out  
of the cabinet below the sink.

Mickey thrust a bottle of all surface cleaner at Ian. “You get all the wood and I’ll do the dishes. Then  
we’ll hit the living room.”

“You had a long day. You can watch TV and I’ll clean,” Ian offered, meekly.

“I got some stuff to work of , too.”

But Mickey was sure an all-night cleaning session wouldn’t alleviate the pain of the weight that had  
settled on his shoulders. It had been heavy before, but at that moment it was bone crushing.

Chapter Sixteen: The Apple & The Tree

Ian woke up on the couch feeling like he’d been run over by a train. He wasn’t sure what time he  
and Mickey had passed out, but he knew he hadn’t gotten enough sleep. The cocktail of exhaustion  
and regret left him feeling more hungover than any alcohol or drugs ever had. It didn’t help that the  
house reeked like bleach. They’d gone hard on their cleaning and the scent was so sterile it made him  
sick. He wished he was in his bed, cuddling with his husband rather than lying alone on the couch.  
He couldn’t believe how badly he’d messed up. As if doing the cocaine wasn’t bad enough, he’d  
managed to make everything exponentially worse, just like he always did. While he wasn’t looking  
forward to facing Mickey, all he wanted to do was see him, have Mickey look him in the eyes so Ian  
could be assured that there was still love behind his husband’s baby blues. They’d been through a lot  
before, and Mickey never ran away, but Ian couldn’t help but fear that he was pushing it. People  
could only deal with so much. Mickey didn’t deserve to have to put up with any of it—especially not  
the lying.

It was dumb that Ian tried to play it off. He should have been honest from the jump, but he wasn’t  
thinking straight. Reflecting on everything that had happened the night before, it was apparent to Ian  
that he’d made a slew of mistakes, the first of which was telling Mickey he was okay when he  
wasn’t. It was a difficult balance not to let Mickey worry about him when he didn’t need to and Ian  
recognizing when it was better that he was forthcoming and let his husband intervener when it was  
necessary. He should have let Mickey leave work when he’d told him he was going to, but what if  
every day was the same? What if things got so stressful that Ian found it impossible to cope?

Mickey’s career was important to them—not just because of the money, but for the confidence and  
esteem it built in Mickey. As if his shitty childhood wasn’t enough, Mickey’s time in prison had left  
him disenfranchised. FIG had given him something that nothing else could and he was doing  
incredibly well there.

Ian had always been selfish. He’d worked hard for years to identify the flaw and better himself. He  
didn’t need his personal issues—the ones that he created for himself—to fuck with his Mickey’s hard  
fought for career. No matter how he cut it, it was an awful situation. He needed Mickey more than  
anyone’s daily responsibilities would allow, so telling him that would do nothing but cause more  
issues.

Still, Ian was scared. In the grand scheme of things, the meeting with Theo hadn’t gone that badly. It  
could have been so much worse than it was, but Ian knew that it was just the beginning. If he  
couldn’t handle the start of it all, there was no way he was going to make it through a very public  
campaign. His stomach turned at the thought that he could have been beside Theo through it all. That  
he could have been standing on stage with him as his husband. It felt like a different life, in an  
alternate universe. He wondered if he would have already been dead if he had married Theo. Ian  
used to be able to easily get through the same 8-Ball that had fucked him up epically the night before.  
He’d come home in the the morning rocked out of his mind and Theo wouldn’t notice. Mickey could  
tell when Ian was grouchy cause he didn’t eat breakfast and hear it in the tone of text messages if he  
was having a shitty day. That’s what made the lies he’d told his husband the night before so damn  
ludicrous. It was insulting to Mickey to try to play him like that and Ian wished the brunet would  
have laid him out for even attempting it. He’d wanted Mickey to beat the shit out of him. Ian had  
angled for it but Mickey hadn’t taken the bait. It felt impossible for Ian to release the stress without  
hurting for his mistakes. He needed that physical pain, and he wasn’t going to get it. He knew  
Mickey wouldn’t lay hands on him the way and scrap the way they used to. It was shit Ian had never  
brought up in rehab. He’d thought he was past it, that getting off of drugs and being with Mickey  
would be enough to cope with whatever he faced in more constructive ways, but he was wrong. The  
magnitude of the Theo stuff was more than he could take. He didn’t want to relive his mistakes, and  
he would have to while dragging Mickey and Yevgeny into the darkness with him. He hated how  
decisions he made independent of both of them were coming back to haunt all that they’d built.  
Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, Ian willed his mind to block out the conversation he’d had with  
Yev while he was fucked up at his baseball game. Of all the shit he did, going to Yevgeny’s game  
high was the worst. He knew he deserved all of the anger he was going to catch from Mickey for it,  
and he feared it was something his husband wouldn’t be able to get past. Mickey had been doing  
everything in his power to give the kid a good life, and Ian was a liability. They’d all suffered  
enough, they didn’t need him to bring them down.

Ian wiped the warm tears from his cheeks and began to stand up, exclaiming, “Oh shit,” he when felt  
Mickey’s body under his foot.

Mickey groaned and pressed the heel of his palms against his sockets before looking up at Ian with  
tired eyes. “Watch it.”

“What the hell are you doing down there?”

“It’s was the only way I’d definitely wake up if your dumbass decided to try to fuck off after I passed  
out,” Mickey grumbled, taking the pillow out from under his head to cover his face.

The guilt Ian was already experiencing multiplied at Mickey’s admission. “I wish you didn’t do  
that.”

“Yeah, I wish you didn’t do a lot of the shit you do,” Mickey’s muffled voice replied.

Unsure what to say without opening the whole can of worms, Ian glances at the clock on the cable  
box: 2:56pm. “Shouldn’t you be at work?”

“I told them I had a family emergency.”

“I should be at work,” Ian sighed, knocking that he was super late and that no call, no show at CUT  
meant the employee was...cut. They expected a higher level of professionalism than that blatant  
irresponsibility.

“I told them you had a family emergency.”

“I am a family emergency.”

Removing the pillow, Mickey nodded and said, “Yeah, you are.”

“Should we talk about it now or—” Ian began, his voice trailing off after the suggestion. He wanted  
Mickey to say “later.” He wanted him to put the pillow back onto his face so Ian didn’t have to see  
the disappointment written all over it. “It’s a lot to talk about.”

“It is,” Mickey agreed, sitting up. “I gotta get in the shower and eat something.”

“Okay, I can make you breakfast, or I guess it’s lunch,” Ian said, ready to rush into the kitchen.  
Mickey shook his head, “Don’t.”

“I want to,” Ian continued.

“Can you just...not right now,” Mickey grumbled, pulling himself off of the ground. He did a couple  
of stretches before walking toward the stairs.

Ian stood dumbfounded in the middle of the living room, unsure of what to do. Mickey had been  
plenty pissed at him in the past, but this felt different. “Mick,” he called, his heart beating fast as he  
waited for Mickey to turn back to look at him.

“Hmm?” Mickey hummed, regarding him with troubled blue eyes.

“I’m sorry.”

“I know.”

The apology seemed to make Mickey sadder than he was before Ian had uttered the words.

“I wish I wasn’t this way,” Ian said with his full chest. He meant every ounce of the admission.

There was nothing he wanted more than to be worry of the man standing across the room from him.

Mickey sniffed and shook his head woefully. “I hate that you suffer.”

“I hate that you suffer with me,” Ian stated, wiping away a fresh batch of tears, “because of me.”

“You give a lot more than you take, Gallagher.”

With that, Ian watched as Mickey made his way up the stairs.

“Milkovich,” he corrected, more eager than ever to denounce his former name.

Monica and Frank Gallagher showed up high to their kids’ sporting events (if they showed up at all).

They went on benders and disappears for days (or years). They put themselves above everyone else.  
They were selfish, narcissistic, and sick. And he didn’t want to be anything like them, even though,  
on his worst days, he was terrified that he was.

Chapter Seventeen: Messes  
TW: More suicide references

As Mickey scrubbed his sore body, he wished Ian would come into the shower, hold him, and tell  
him everything was going to be alright. But, that wasn’t the way things worked—at least with  
addiction. There was no comfort, especially not for the people who loved a person who was run by a  
drug. Ian’s stumble meant that Mickey had to fall back into the position of caretaker. It wasn’t as  
though he’d abandoned his post, but for a while things had been more reciprocal. That wasn’t going  
to be the case again, at least not until all of the outside stressors subsided. Relapsing was proof  
enough to Mickey that Ian needed to be handled in a way the redhead wasn’t going to want to be,  
but there was more at stake than his feelings. If Ian was going to let shit fall apart, Mickey was going  
to have to stitch it back together, even if it was uncomfortable. It wasn’t like he could give Ian and  
ultimatum. They both knew Mickey would never leave if the terms weren’t fulfilled, but he had to  
demand that Ian take certain measures and hope—for everyone’s sake—that his husband followed  
through.

Mickey wasn’t sure if it was the breech of trust that made things more complicated, or if it was the  
fact that he continued to attempt to stop an asteroid with his bare hands. It was unrealistic for Mickey  
to think that he could assert any control over his husband. At best, he could make Ian realize how  
readily the life that they had built could be destroyed. Maybe things had been too good to be true for  
too long. Nothing had ever been simple for them. Mickey didn’t know why he’d thought they could  
indefinitely live the easy life they’d been enjoying for the past couple of years.

He hated how angry he was. Ian was sick and though the disease so often laid dormant, it was  
always there. It was an awful feeling to fault Ian for an infliction, but sometimes it was hard to see  
past the destructive symptoms. The most difficult aspect was trying to figure out what Ian actually  
had control over and what he didn’t, how much he could hold him accountable for and how much  
slid by. No matter how furious he was at Ian, Mickey knew that his husband was angrier at himself.  
As he rinsed the shampoo from his hair, Mickey focused on how frustrating it must be for Ian to have  
made so many strides forward only to fall back into a bag of powder. He had to remember that it  
was one thing to feel helpless from the outside and another for Ian to feel that way in his own body.  
The thought was jarring and made him want to hold Ian despite how pissed he was.  
Toweling of , Mickey halfway hoped that he’d open the bathroom door and see the redhead lying on  
their bed, waiting for Mickey to climb into his arms. Instead, he saw Grumpy, who was splayed out  
in the starfish position.

“You don’t know how easy you have it, you fat fucker,” Mickey grumbled, pulling on a pair of  
boxers.

Grumpy lifted his head to regard his reluctant owner and laid it down in a blatant show of  
disinterest. He couldn’t really blame the dog for being tired. He’d been up for the half of the night  
with them, seeming confused as to why they were up way past their typical bedtime. Somewhere  
around four in the morning, the mutt had gone upstairs and took over their bed, a power move that  
Mickey was jealous of as he laid on the floor beside the couch.

“He looks exhausted,” Ian noted as he entered the room.

“I think we all are,” Mickey replied, rifling through his drawer for a tank top. In the shower he had  
hoped that Ian would be in the room when he got out, but now that he was, Mickey wanted him  
gone. He didn’t want to have the talk. He didn’t want to deal with Ian or any of it.

“I made you a peanut butter and jelly sandwich,” Ian said, holding up the plate so Mickey would  
take it from him, “on waffles because we’re outta bread. We have to go to the market.”

“You should put on your list of places to go. Slot it right under NA,” Mickey replied, taking the plate  
and placing it on the dresser.

Ian cringed at the statement, but persisted. “You said you were hungry.”

“I am.”

“That’s why I made you a sandwich. You should eat it.”

“I will,” Mickey grunted, wanting Ian to get the fuck out of his face. He didn’t want to talk about  
grocery shopping or a janky ass sandwich. He didn’t want to do anything but go back in time to  
prevent everything that had happened from happening.

“It’s gonna get hard really fast. Frozen waffles always do.”

He knew that Ian was trying to make things better, more normal, but it wasn’t working. His  
presence was doing nothing but agitating Mickey.

“The sandwich is probably gonna he bad enough not stale, so if it get crunchy it’s gonna be awful,”  
Ian continued. He was quickly entering rambling territory and Mickey knew he was going to lose it.  
“I could make you a protein smoothie...”

Patience. He needed to channel every ounce of patience he had in his system. It wasn’t about the  
waffles. It wasn’t about Ian’s nervous babbling. It was about sitting down and talking about the herd  
of elephants stomping through the room.

“But the peanut butter has a good amount of protein in it too, so it wouldn’t be a bad idea for you to  
take a few bites.”

Enough! Against his better judgment, Mickey picked up the sandwich and chucked it at Ian. “Fuck  
of with your fucking waffles, Ian,” Mickey cried as Ian dodged the projectile.

The presence of food landing in front of him perked Grumpy up and the dog didn’t waste any time  
inhaling the sloppy sandwich. Ian kept his head down and gnawed on his lip, focusing his attention  
on the dog rather than Mickey.

“You’re cleaning that shit up,” Mickey huffed, watching as slobber, peanut butter, and jelly  
saturated the comforter.

“You threw it,” Ian objected, still avoiding Mickey’s gaze.

Mickey let out a caustic laugh. “I threw it. Yeah. ‘Cause you don’t know how to shut the fuck up.”

“Hmm,” Ian hummed, rubbing his hands over the comforter as if to smooth it out. “That, or I just  
fucked up.” Lifting his head, he looked Mickey dead in the eye. “I fucked up, Mick. I know I  
did...badly. And I can’t even begin to tell you how sorry I am.”

“Oh, you can begin,” Mickey decided, waving his hand out in front of him. “Begin. Let’s see if you  
can hit it all before the sun goes down.”

“Why? Am I gonna turn into a pumpkin or something?”

Shrugging, Mickey replied, “Got a head like a pumpkin so go ahead, Cinderella. What d’you got?”

Ian gestured for Mickey to join on him the bed, and he did, careful not to sit in Grumpy’s mess. He  
sighed when Ian took his hands, interlocking their fingers together as tight as possible without  
causing pain. As much as Mickey wanted to resist the step toward tenderness, he couldn’t, not when  
Ian was looking at him with those hurt puppy eyes. “I’m so sorry for everything that I honestly don’t  
know what to focus on,” Ian admitted. “Like, going to Yev’s game like that.” Ian rolled his lips in  
tight, a tell that he was about to cry, and just as Mickey predicted, the waterworks followed.  
Mickey squeezed Ian’s hand harder, unsure if it was an act of comfort or a reaction to the anger that  
was still pulsing through his body.

“I’m so fucking ashamed,” Ian whispered, shaking his head as if he was in disbelief of his actions.

“It was bad enough that I got the coke but going there...” he paused to swallow down the emotion  
that was chasing his voice to crack, “it was so irresponsible.”

“How am I supposed to trust you?” Mickey asked, hoping that Ian had an answer to the impossible  
question. “I know that you don’t,” he sighed, “have control over everything when you get like that,  
but you could’ve channeled some sorta reason and stayed away from my kid’s game.”

Ian pulled his hands away to wipe away the tears that were streaming steadily down his cheeks.

“And it scares me that I didn’t...or couldn’t. I’m not sure.”

“I should’ve left work. I knew you weren’t okay and I let you tell me you were,” Mickey states.

“That shit’s on me.”

“None of this is on you,” Ian disagreed. “You’re,” he licked his lips, “so good, Mick. You’re solid. I  
thought I’d be alright...”

“And you didn’t think that you should’ve picked up the phone and called me when you realized you  
weren’t?” Mickey cried. “I wouldn’t dropped everything and you know it.”

“But I don’t want you to have to drop everything! You’ve worked so hard to get where you are and I  
don’t want my problems to ruin it all for you.”

“You wouldn’t ruin anything,” Mickey replied. “Shit happens and people have to understand, and if  
they don’t then fuck them. I’m not worried about that. I’m worried about you.”

“And I’m worried about what you worrying about me does to you.”

“I worry about you all of the fucking time, man,” Mickey admitted. “What happened yesterday, I  
worry about that everyday.”

The confession had Ian dipping his face into the crook of his elbow. “I don’t want that,” he uttered  
between his sobs. “I don’t want that for you.”

“It’s not like I didn’t know what I was getting into, Ian,” Mickey said, dropping his pretenses and  
wrapping his husband up tightly in his arms. Ian’s body collapsed into him, every muscle letting go  
as soon as Mickey took over. “I love you. Always loved you. That’s not gonna change no matter  
what happens, but that doesn’t mean that shit isn’t gonna change. It has to change.”  
Ian nodded his head, listening as he buried his face in Mickey’s chest.

“I wasn’t joking about NA. You have to go. I don’t know what’s gonna trigger you and I can’t talk  
you outta it. You need a sponsor or something. Someone that can help you avoid whatever the fuck  
you did yesterday.”

“I’ll go,” Ian promised, sitting up so Mickey could see the sincerity in his eyes.

“Every week. Even if you think you don’t need to.”

“Okay. Every week.”

“And you should get back into counseling,” Mickey added. “This Theo stuf is a lot and I think it’s  
fucking with you—more than just he expectation list bull shit. All of it. We have insurance now.  
There’s no excuse for you not to go...”

“I hate it,” Ian said softly.

“Yeah, well I hate worrying that you’re gonna jump of a bridge into the river,” Mickey stated.  
Ian stared at Mickey with his mouth dropped open. “I would never do that.”

“You say that now, but then you disappear for hours and don’t answer your phone. You do cocaine  
after being clean for years. You’re—“ He stopped himself before going on and then decided there  
was no use in tiptoeing around anything, “—bipolar. You haven’t had swings in a while, baby, but  
that doesn’t mean it doesn’t scare the hell out of me that you might, and when your manic or  
depressed I don’t know what you could do.”

“I wouldn’t kill myself while I’m manic.”

“Not on purpose,” Mickey exclaimed. “Believe me, that shit worries me more than the downs.”

“I’ll go to counseling,” Ian relented. “Counseling and NA. I’ll do both.”

“You gotta want to go or something. I can’t just force you into it, right? Like, you gotta think you  
need it.”

Ian nodded. “I know I need it. I don’t wanna need it but I know I do.”

“That’s good, I guess,” Mickey said tentatively. He didn’t know if Ian was going to go from contrite  
to combative like he used to, but he had to take him at his word and hope that he would stand up to  
it. “I want you to share your location with me.”

“Okay.”

“And I’m putting alerts on our bank account if you withdraw cash. Nobody needs cash for anything  
but drugs anymore.”

“I think the guy I bought my shit from takes Venmo now. A lot of them do.”

Mickey stared at Ian, trying to figure out to do with the information. He wasn’t sure if Ian was  
helping Mickey protect him or being obstinate. “What’s your point? They you’re gonna get around  
it?”

“I don’t think so, but I don’t know,” Ian replied.

The admission was worse than the assumed obstinance. At least if Ian was being a jerk about it  
Mickey would know where he stood.

“Then I’ll put alerts on the account if you spend more than $20. Will that work?”

“I want to just tell you that I’m never gonna buy coke again,” Ian said.

“And you can’t do that?” Mickey asked, the realization stabbing him in the heart.

Ian dropped his head in shame. “Not right now.”

“Okay,” Mickey nodded. He was in over his head. Way over his head. Things were worse than he’d  
thought if Ian could have a night like the one prior and not trust himself not to be there again. “We’ll  
figure it out.”

“You don’t have to do this,” Ian stated, wiping his tears away with the hem of his t-shirt. “I can go  
stay with Lip or something. Get my shit together and then come back. You don’t have to deal with  
this.”

Mickey scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Don’t be a dumbass. You know I meant it when I said ‘sickness  
and health.’ I’m not gonna pussy out because you’re,” he waved his hand in front of his face trying  
to think of the right words, and when couldn’t find them he settled on the wrong ones, “kinda a mess  
right now.”

Laughing wetly, Ian wondered, “Just kinda?”

Mickey grimaced and shrugged his shoulders. “Time will tell.” He took Ian’s hands again and gave  
his wedding ring a kiss. “Either way, we’ll get through it.”

“I love you,” Ian said, leaning in to press their lips together.

Mickey kissed him back eagerly, needing the affection more than he wanted to admit. “Love you,  
too.” He pulled back and pointed to the peanut butter and jelly on the comforter. “And that’s all  
you.”

“I know,” Ian assured, going in for another kiss. “I’ll take care of it.”

One mess at a time.

Chapter Eighteen: The Weight

Ian grunted as he hoisted the weights above his body. Though he was benching the same amount as  
he had been for the past few weeks, his arms were shakier than usual. Moving the bar to the holder,  
he sighed and sat up, wiping the sweat from his brow. He’d had several good sessions with clients  
and a fine workout of his won despite feeling like absolute shit. The exhaustion from his coke binge  
had finally caught up with him, and the emotional toll remained significant—at least in his house. No  
matter how strong Mickey was trying to be, Ian knew his arms were shaking too.  
There were many things about his addiction that Ian wanted to understand, like how could he care  
about his body—its muscles, strength, and aesthetics—while simultaneously abusing. He stood up to  
study his form in the mirror. Every cut was in the place it had been prior to his relapse. His biceps  
were bulging and defined, his abs were chiseled, and his quads thick. His body was exactly as it had  
been—bone, skin, and muscles—but he was markedly weaker in faith and resolve. He didn’t trust  
himself and it would be a slow build until he could again. He didn’t even want to think about how  
long it would take Mickey.

Fuck, Mickey was amazing. Ian had spent a decade and a half loving him and Mickey had proved at  
every stretch that loving him was the best thing Ian had ever done. Back in the day, it was hard to  
imagine that the quick witted, tough ass thug would be more solid than the Earth’s core, that he  
would be Ian’s rock and so much more. It was what Ian had daydreamed about, but he’d thought that  
he’d romanticized his crush, in the same way that other teenagers did of their love interest. In his  
wildest dreams, Ian married Mickey. It had seemed like a ludicrous hope to have, that Mickey would  
one day be his husband—his dream man. Ian wanted to worthy of the life they’d created together, of  
the man who he pined for for years before getting him. He could never lose Mickey. If he lost  
Mickey, he would lose himself, his past, and his future.

Ian liked to be with Mickey as often as possible, but he found their typical time apart unbearable after  
what had happened. He knew it was ridiculous, but he feared that the more time Mickey spent away  
from him, the more Mickey would realize that life without Ian was easier.  
“I miss you,” Ian said into the phone after his workout. He was sitting on a bench in the locker room,  
wishing he was tangled up with his husband in their bed. He wanted to be held, comforted, told that  
everything was going to be okay, even if it wasn’t. He hoped it would be, but hope was a dangerous  
thing to have. He was used to letting people down.

“I miss you, too,” Mickey replied, and Ian could hear in his voice that he did.

“You do?”

“Yeah.”

“I know things have been hard, but I feel really,” Ian let the thought trail off, worried that if he went  
there, it would cause more problems than he already had.

“Feel really what?” Mickey prompted. Ian could hear that his husband was walking through the  
kitchen from the clanking pots and loud conversations in the background.

“I don’t know,” Ian began, tentatively, “disconnected. I’m worried that you’re seeing me as someone  
I was and not who I’ve been.”

It took a few beats for Mickey to respond. “I’m just seeing you for who you always are to me. I don’t  
know what else to tell you, Ian.”

“Tell me you love me,” Ian whispered. “I just need to hear it.”

“I love you.”

“What time are you going to be home tonight?”

“Shouldn’t be too late. I think around seven,” Mickey stated. It took less than a split second for him  
to add, “Are you alright? D’you need me to get someone to cover me?”

“No, no,” Ian assured, quickly. “It’s nothing like that. I just wanna be with you. Feel like things are  
normal in some ways, y’know? At least headed back to normal...”

“Things are fine,” Mickey promised. “We’re fine, okay? Don’t overthink shit. You’re gonna take  
care of what you gotta take care of and I’m gonna take care of you.”

“I know you will. Believe me, I know that. I just wanna take care of you, too. There’s not many  
ways that I can right now, but I want to do what I can.”

“Oh, like that.” Mickey finally seemed to get what Ian was throwing down. “We can do that.”

“I’m not trying to fuck everything away,” Ian promised, aware that there was an older man across  
from him in the locker bay who wasn’t appreciating how privy he was to the intimate conversation.  
Ian didn’t care. As comfortable as he felt with Mickey, there was no denying that things were  
strained. The natural distance of a phone call allowed him to be more forthcoming than he had dared  
to be in person. “I just wanna...”

Mickey laughed. A real laugh, not the sarcastic laugh he’d had for the last couple of conversations.  
“Not everything’s gotta be a discussion. We’re good, Ian.”

“I don’t want you to think I’m not taking things seriously,” Ian continued. “Believe me, I am. It just  
that. I don’t know...we’ve always been really good at fucking, like, it feels like more than fucking  
when we’ve got shit like this to deal with.”

“I’m down to fuck for literally any reason that you want to,” Mickey responded. “We don’t have to  
talk about fucking. We can just fuck.”

“Oh good. I mean, you didn’t want to the other night, so I wasn’t sure if that wasn’t going to be a  
thing or something.”

“I wanted to kill you.”

“I know.”

“I don’t always wanna kill you. I don’t want to kill you right now.”

“Okay. So, you want me to fuck you?” Ian asked, glancing at the old man who was staring at him as  
if he was deviant. He didn’t care. He and Mickey were getting somewhere. “Right now.”

“I’m not trying to have phone sex, but yeah, I’m down to fuck, Ian. You think I don’t want to fuck  
you?”

“I don’t know. You didn’t the other night.”

“Right. I was pissed,” Mickey reiterated.

“And you’re not pissed now?” Ian prodded. “You’re past it?”

“Listen, all I can think about is your dick pounding my hole. I see where you’re going with all this,  
and I appreciate it, but we don’t gotta talk about it anymore. I’m down to fuck.”

“Okay, good!” Ian exclaimed. “That’s so good. Definitely looking forward to that.”

Mickey chuckled. “Sounds like it. You know we got Yev tonight, right? He’ll be there when you get  
home.”

“Yeah, yeah, of course,” Ian replied. Amongst all the stuff that had been going on, he hadn’t kept  
track of the days, let alone the custody schedule. The thought of facing Yev rattled Ian for several  
reasons—most notably, he didn’t know what to say to the kid regarding his behavior at the game.  
Yevgeny had told Mickey that Ian was acting weird, so he knew that something was up, but  
clarifying exactly what it was wasn’t a task that Ian felt up to. Still, Yev deserved an apology, even if  
it wasn’t flanked by a full divulging.

“I gotta go.”

“I love you.” Ending phone calls with the sentiment had become habit, but after what had happened,  
Ian needed to hear it back. It was confirmation of what he already knew but feared could change if  
he pushed his husband too far.

“I love you, too.”

“The same as you did a week ago?”

“Am I supposed to say some corny shit like ‘I love you more and more everyday’?” Mickey asked.

Ian could hear the eye roll in his voice. “I’m not a goddamn poet. I love like I always have.”

“And always will?” Ian nudged.

Mickey sighed. It was obvious that he was harried from work and late for whatever he was trying to  
get off the phone and do. His voice dropped lower as he told Ian, “I love you, baby. I’m never not  
gonna love you, okay? No matter what happens I’m gonna love your dumbass.”

“You are a poet,” Ian whispered, in mock awe. They both laughed and Ian smiled his real smile—the  
smile that actually believed the words and knew everything was alright.

“I really have to...”

“I know. I’ll see you later.”

“Later.”

Ian hung up the phone happy. Happier than he had been in a while. Ignoring the man still glaring at  
him, Ian grabbed his things and made his way out of the locker room.

“Hey you!” Sage greeted as Ian entered the lobby. She behind the desk organizing her things for the  
night shift ahead of her.

“Hey! How’s it going?”

“Great,” Ian replied, easily.

“Everyone okay?” she questioned, a look of concern on her freckled face.

“Yeah, we’re all good.” He crinkled his nose quizzically. “What’s up?”

“The family emergency. I was scared something happened to Mickey or Yevgeny.”

“Oh, no. It wasn’t anything like that. It was shit with my dad, but things are fine,” Ian lied. He cared  
about Sage and knew that she cares about him, but he didn’t need her to know what had happened.

“Thanks for asking.”

“Of course. I’m on day tomorrow. Wanna get lunch?”

“Obviously,” Ian grinned. “Have a good night.”

“You too,” she called after him.

Thankfully, Ian knew he would. As awkward as things might be between he and Yev, Ian wanted to  
apologize. He wasn’t sure what Yev thought was up with him, but he’d tell him he wasn’t feeling  
well and he should have never showed up like that and made him nervous. Something along those  
lines. Whatever it was, he would handle it, because he was capable of handling things. He was  
strong enough to deal with what he needed to, regardless of what it was. He had to be, because he  
needed his life to stay the way it was—better than it had ever been before.

Chapter Nineteen: The South Side Rules

Mickey sat on a curb behind the FIG’s kitchen, smoking a cigarette and thinking about his  
conversation with Ian. It was easy to slip back into their regular life after what had happened.  
Though the stress of it all was still at the forefront of Mickey’s mind, when Ian laughed and teased  
like he did when they’re were on the phone, he momentarily believed everything was okay. It was  
afterward, when he forced himself to focus on the way Ian had said things, the inflections in his  
voice, that be remembered that things war far from copacetic. He didn’t want to have to peel apart  
their communications to look for clues that might have been completely fabricated by his worried  
brain. He’d taken Ian’s words at face value a few days prior and shit had hit the fan. He wasn’t about  
to do that again.

“How’s it going, Boss?” Matthew asked, as he took a seat beside Mickey. Matthew was Mickey’s  
lead cater waiter and one hell of a worker.

“It’s alright. Taking a break from orders for the Benson brunch.” Mickey tapped the paper to ash his  
cigarette before taking another drag. “How ‘bout you? How’s the new kid?”

“He’ll be good. We’re going over setting and clearing after break,” Matt replied, hitting his vape.

“You gotta start vaping.”

“That shit’s gonna kill you.”

Matthew laughed. “Like cigarettes are any better?”

“I’d rather deal with the devil that I know than some new shit that’s gonna make a tree grow outta  
my lung.”

“A tree, huh?”

Nodding, Mickey repeated, “A whole ass tree, right here,” he patted the waiter’s chest. “That or  
some real bad emphysema.”

“I’ll take my chances. My girlfriend hates the taste of cigarettes. Does your husband ever give you  
shit about it?”

“Nah. Ian smokes like a chimney.”

Matthew crinkled down his blond brows. “Isn’t he a personal trainer or something?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Aren’t they supposed to be health nuts?”

“He looks like he is, so I guess that’s enough.”

“He is built,” Matt agreed, earning a side-eye from Mickey. “What?”

“Nothing.”

Matthew cleared his throat, asking tentatively, “Is everything good with you?”

Mickey avoided having close relationships with anyone on his staff, so personal questions were out  
of the ordinary. “What d’you mean?”

“You never call out. Mac said that you had a family emergency or something.”

“And...?” Mickey challenged, looking his employee straight in the eye. “Are you asking me about  
my family shit right now?”

“No, no,” the waiter his hands up in surrender, “I’m not trying to prod or anything. I just to make  
sure everything’s okay, see if you needed help with anything.”

“I’m always okay,” Mickey replied coolly. Matthew was a nice enough kid, but Mickey wasn’t  
going to start opening the lines of communication enough that anyone would think that he was their  
friend. He didn’t need friends, he has enough that he didn’t want.

Sam and Moe had been all over his ass since he contacted them to see if they knew where Ian was.  
He wished he’d never involved anyone else. Complicated circumstances were immediately higher  
stakes when there were spectators. Their friends being privy to the fact that there was an issue made  
them think they had some sort of right to information, which made Mickey lie in order to protect their  
privacy. It was fucked and he hated every facet of the situation.

“Believe me, I don’t doubt that,” Matthew stated, quickly. “I just want you to know that I care, all of  
us do.”

“That’s nice. You all can make me a goddamn a card the next time my mom has the shits,” Mickey  
snarked.

“That was the emergency? Your mom had the shits?”

Mickey shot Matthew a death glare and the younger man laughed nervously.

“Oh, you were joking,” Matt noted. “Sometimes it’s hard to tell.”

“I bet. How long’s your break?” It hadn’t even been five minutes since Matthew joined him, but  
Mickey wanted him gone.

“It’s probably over now.” Matthew glanced at his phone and jumped up. “Definitely over. Alright,  
good talk, Boss.”

“Yeah, let’s never do this again,” Mickey suggested with a click of his tongue.

“Never ever,” Matthew promised, high tailing it back into the building.

Rubbing his forehead, Mickey pulled his phone out of his pocket and shot off a text to Yevgeny:

Mickey (4:21pm): U at practice?  
Mickey (4:22pm): I’ll be home at 9. Ian should be there when u get done  
Mickey (4:22pm): If he’s not call me  
Mickey (4:23pm): Not text...call  
Mickey (4:23pm): And if I don’t answer call me til I do  
Yevgeny (4:28pm): What’s wrong with Ian?  
Mickey (4:28pm): U at practice?  
Yevgeny (4:29pm): Yeah water break. What’s wrong with Ian?  
Mickey (4:29pm): Nothing why?  
Yevgeny (4:30pm): Read ur texts  
Mickey (4:30pm): What about them?  
Yevgeny (4:31pm): U sound paranoid  
Mickey (4:31pm): U don’t know what paranoid sounds like  
Yevgeny (4:31pm): I’m thinking kinda like that  
Mickey (4:32pm): Ur wrong  
Yevgeny (4:32pm): Is he ok tho?  
Mickey (4:33pm): He’s fine  
Yevgeny (4:33pm): Cause he was weird the other night and ur being weird now  
Mickey (4:34pm): Everyone is fine  
Yevgeny (4:34pm): How about Grumpy?  
Mickey (4:34pm): How about him what?  
Yevgeny (4:35pm): How’s he doing?  
Mickey (4:35pm): Ask him when u see him  
Yevgeny (4:35pm): I will. He’ll probably give me more of an answer than u.  
Mickey (4:35pm): Ohhh ur a funny kid  
Yevgeny (4:36pm): That’s what I hear. I GG. I’ll let you know about Ian...not that it’s a big deal  
since ur obviously not worried about anything.  
Mickey (4:36pm): Right. Thanks smartass.  
Yevgeny (4:37pm): anytime

Mickey grinned and slipped his phone back in his pocket, stomping out the remainder of his cigarette  
on the pavement.

Yevgeny never ceased to amaze him. His son was witty, smart, and talented. Mickey couldn’t stand  
Svetlana (more than) half of the time, but he had to admit that she did a good job with Yev. He was  
better adjusted than any kid growing up on the South Side had the right to be. Sometimes, when he  
really got caught in his feeling, Mickey wondered if things would have been different if Mickey  
hadn’t been in prison for so long. Would have be fucked Yevgeny up if he was present from the  
start? It was a lot to consider. It wasn’t often that Mickey looked at his prison time as a positive factor  
in his life, but he couldn’t deny that being locked up for that long had forced him to mature in a way  
he might not have if he hadn’t done time. He grew up fast being raised by Terry, but that didn’t  
equate to any sort of emotional intelligence, not like eight years in the can did. Mickey didn’t think  
he was Father of the Year, but he knew he was a hell of a lot better than his old man and he had to  
credit some of that to his time in prison. Terry obviously never got the same perspective during his  
numerous stints.

Striding through the kitchen, Mickey made his way back to the office. As usual, he has a pile of  
paperwork on his desk and slew of voicemails to return. Though he liked his job—and the purpose it  
gave him—Mickey hated having to talk to clients. His inner voice was always prompting him to say  
shit he knew would get him fired, and he sometimes he had to literally bite his tongue to hold back  
the insults that wanted to tumble off of it. He’d never imagined that he’d be in a position where he  
was in charge of any sort of customer service and do well at it. It was helpful that the event planner  
Ari took care of a lot of the client plans, but it didn’t take him off the hook completely.  
Patience. He practiced it often and reminded himself to do so as he listened to the message from a  
high maintenance bitch who was riding his ass over the dumbest shit. It was incredible that people  
had lives that allowed them to be concerned about what color napkins were served with bite sized  
appetizers that cost $9 a piece. Mickey knew that he’d forever be trash to high brow North Siders,  
which was fine with him. South Side rules might not have been accepted in polite company, but that  
didn’t mean there wasn’t a place to them.

Speaking of South Side rules, he had some shit to take care. He searched Google until he found a  
phone number for Senator Theodore Goodwyn’s office. Unsurprisingly, after the first ring he was  
kicked to the Senator’s secretary’s voicemail. He cleared his throat before leaving his message:

“Yeah, this is Mickey Milkovich and I need to talk to Goodwyn about Ian Milkovich. He knows  
who we are. My number’s 312-924-6771. If anyone but the Senator uses it, shit’s gonna get a lot  
more complicated than it already is. Alright?”

Mickey hung up the phone wondering what exactly he’d say to Theo if he called back. The  
bottom-line was that Ian wasn’t taking another meeting with Theo and his crew. If Theo was going to  
hide behind his “keepers,” Mickey would make sure that Ian was hidden safely behind his. A  
conversation between Mickey and Theo was long overdo, and Mickey wasn’t going to let it go for  
much longer.

Chapter Twenty: DARE

After the way Ian acted at Yev’s game, he felt compelled to campaign for stepdad of the year and do  
something special for the kid. Unsure of what exactly would get put him in the running for the title,  
Ian decided to go with a “gimme” and bought Yevgeny “Red Dead Redemption 2.” Nothing said  
awesome stepfather like a video game.

And spaghetti. He had to provide a carb heavy dinner if he was going to endear himself to a tween  
athlete. Yevgeny wasn’t a large kid—as it seemed he was taking after his father’s stature—but that  
didn’t mean he couldn’t eat them out of house and home. The amount of food he consumed was  
incredible, and definitely a sign that he was growing more and more by the day. It was crazy when  
Ian to compared Yevgeny at twelve to he and Mickey at the same age. Though Ian wasn’t sure what  
Yev was up to when he wasn’t in their care, he highly doubted that Yev was participating in petty theft,   
smoking weed, or banging thirty-year-olds.  
Ian was spreading butter on his soon-to-be garlic bread when he heard the front door open. Shaking  
the garlic furiously over the loaf, he quickly threw it into the oven and jogged to the living room to  
greet Yevgeny.

“Hey,” he said, going in for a hug. They’d shared two at the game—a highlight that Ian wouldn’t  
forget even when he tried to erase the whole night from his mind. Somehow, they’d become  
huggers. Or not. The embrace was awkward which put Ian more on edge than he has been before.

“It smells good in here,” Yevgeny noted, as he pulled away from Ian. He nudged his knuckles  
against his nostrils, just like his father did when he was uncomfortable.

Ian took a split second to stare at Yev and marvel at how amazing it was that he was so much like  
Mickey. The older that Yevgeny got, the more apparent it was that he would be the spitting image of  
his father, in multiple ways.

“I made spaghetti and meatballs, garlic bread, and a salad,” Ian said. “Are you hungry?”

“Is the sky blue?” Yevgeny joked. “Practice was long.”

“I bet. Do you wanna shower up or eat first?”

“I would’ve said shower until I walked in here and smelled all the garlic.”

“Let’s eat,” Ian suggested, happy that Yev seemed pleased with the dinner he’d prepared. Yevgeny  
wasn’t exactly a high maintenance kid, but that didn’t take away from Ian’s relief. “Everything’s nice  
and hot, besides the salad, it would be gross if that was hot.”

“Salad’s gross anyway,” Yev noted as he sat down at the table.

“Even with ranch? You eat it with ranch sometimes.”

“Depends on my mood.”

“And what’s your mood now?” Ian asked, fanning his hand after grabbing the garlic bread from the  
overnight. “I should’ve used an oven mitt.”

“Did you burn yourself?” Yevgeny questioned.

“Not badly,” Ian replied, waving away the concern. “Everything’s good. No need to worry.”

“You sound like my dad.”

“Oh?” Ian wondered as he plated their meals, but he didn’t push the subject when Yev didn’t say  
another word. Mickey didn’t make a habit of keeping things from Ian, but conversations between  
father and son were a sacred space as far as Ian was concerned. His husband had made it a point to  
be a force of good in Yevgeny’s life—unlike their own dads—and Ian didn’t want to intrude on any  
part of the process. That wasn’t to say that Mickey didn’t include him. Ian loved that Mickey wanted  
him to be a father to Yevgeny, but he hated how he was failing to live up to his husband’s example.  
As they ate, Yevgeny talked about baseball and Ian listened intently, happy that the boy was  
speaking to him. They were nearly finished their meals when Ian left the table to grab the video  
game.

“I got this for you,” he said, placing the box beside Yev’s plate. “I figured we could play tonight.”  
Yevgeny narrowed his blue eyes skeptically, glancing from Ian to the game and then back again.

“What’s this for?”

“Fun,” Ian shrugged. “We always play video games.”

“Yeah, but you don’t always buy them for me.”

“What can I say? I like you,” Ian said, tussling Yevgeny’s hair playfully.

“Well, thanks.”

“It’s supposed to be a good one.”

“So I’ve heard.”

“Is there another one you’d want more? I can return it and get that one instead,” Ian offered. “Just tell  
me. I won’t be upset about it.”

“Why are you being so nice to me?” Yev blurted.

“Aren’t I always nice to you?” Ian questioned, taken aback by the statement.

“Well, yeah but this is different.”

“How’s it different?”

“I don’t know,” Yev answered, pushing the last of his spaghetti around the plate. “You and dad are  
both being really weird. Are you guys getting divorced or something?”

"What?!” Ian cried, “Absolutely not. Where’d you even...no...we’re not getting a divorce. That’s  
never gonna happen.”

Yev nodded slowly as if he didn’t believe that Ian was being truthful. “I know it happens a lot.”

“It does, but it won’t with us. Me and your dad are forever.” No matter how badly Ian fucked up, he  
knew that it was true. Sometimes, he worried that his husband would finally have enough one day,  
but then he came to the conclusion that that train of thought was an insult to the kind of man Mickey  
was. He was ride or die for Ian, and Ian was down for Mickey, too. “How’s your dad being weird?”

“I don’t know he’s been really worried ever since I told him that you were kinda weird my game the  
other night.”

“Yeah, he wasn’t happy with me and I was just feeling really off,” Ian explained, trying to keep his  
response as vague—and sincere—as possible.

“You were high,” Yev stated matter-of-factly. The conviction behind the assertion nearly knocked  
Ian off the chair.

“What do you know about being high?” he gasped, scandalized by the thought that Yev might have  
messed around with drugs.

Yev raised his eyebrows, just like Mickey would when someone said something stupid to him. “I’m  
twelve, Ian. What did you know about being high at 12?”

“Too much,” Ian relented. “You don’t do that stuff do you?”

“No.”

“Have you tried anything?”

“Nope.”

Ian let out a sigh of relief. “Good. You shouldn’t.”

“How can you say that when you do?” Yev asked. There was no accusation in his tone, but the  
inquiry still felt accusatory to Ian, who was naturally sensitive about the topic.

“I’m not an idiot, Yevgeny. I know that they’re awful.”

“But you still do them...” Yev said carefully, as if he was trying to understand.

“Sometimes people get, um, addicted to things like that,” Ian began, in disbelief that he was actually  
coming clean to Yevgeny.

“Wait, you’re addicted to drugs?” Yev asked, appearing to be shocked by the revelation.

“To a drug...yeah.” Ian wanted be conversation over, but it seemed that Yevgeny was just getting  
started. As he fielded the questions, Ian hoped that Mickey would be okay with him telling Yev the  
truth.

“Which drug?”

“Uh, Cocaine.”

“Really?” Yev gasped. “Isn’t that the one that people snort?”

“Yeah.”

“You snorted it?”

“Yeah.”

“So you do it all the time?”

“No, not anymore. I don’t do it at all,” Ian replied, wringing his hands. Yevgeny was looking at him  
like he was an alien and Ian feared he would continue to look at him that way.

“But you were high at my game,” Yev reminded, as if Ian could have ever forgotten.

“I made a really bad mistake,” Ian stated, “and I’m sorry that you had to see me like that, that I came  
to your game like that.”

Yevgeny nodded. It was obvious that he didn’t know what to say, which was fine with Ian. He  
wanted to move on to another subject. He was about to start one when Yev asked, “Has my dad ever  
done it?”

“Made a mistake? Ian asked, committed to playing off the intention of the question.

“No. Has he ever done cocaine?” Yev clarified.

Oh fuck no. Ian tried not to outwardly cringe. “You’d have to ask him about that.”

“I bet he did,” Yev decided, shoveling the last of his dinner into his mouth. “He did a lot of bad  
stuff.”

“Stuff that he’d never want you to do,” Ian emphasized, clearing their plates. “Let’s check out that  
game. Why don’t you go load it up?”

“On it,” Yev chirped, hurrying into the living room.

Ian let out the breath he’d been holding for the past ten minutes and took a gulp of water. That could  
have gone worsen. He’d thought up a handful of awful scenarios and was glad that though the  
conversation had taken several turns that he had expected, none had shaken Ian too much. All in all,  
it seemed like a success. While he wasn’t crazy about Yev knowing he was an addict, he was  
relieved that Yevgeny took it well. Ian couldn’t have expected him not to be surprised. Ian had  
grown up around drugs. He had to remind himself that it wasn’t like that for a lot of kids, that some  
of them learned that drugs were bad and actually believed it.

He tossed around the idea of texting Mickey to tell him what had happened, but decided they’d talk  
about in person after Mick got home and Ian fucked him. They’d had enough discussions about  
difficult shit over the last several days. They deserved some time off from the heavy shit...and to get  
off. They definitely needed that.

Chapter Twenty-One: Hands Free

Mickey loved the sight of Ian and Yevgeny chilling on the living room couch, playing video games.  
He’d spent his childhood not feeling settled in his house, and his adulthood was marked by a warmth  
that washed over him as soon as he walked through the front door of their home.  
“Hey!” Ian exclaimed, jumping up to give Mickey a hug and a kiss. Though it was typical for Ian to  
make it a point to greet Mickey when he got home, his husband’s obvious excitement to see him  
wasn’t lost on Mickey.

He laughed as Ian gave his lip a bit of a nibble, a playful expression that spoke to a greater desire.  
They hadn’t messed around in almost a week, which was a long stretch for them. Sex wasn’t the  
cornerstone of their relationship like it had been when they first started hooking up many moons ago,  
but it was still very important to both of them. “How are you doing?”

“Good,” Ian said. “Yev and I are playing a new game I got.”

“It’s so badass, Dad. You’d love it,” Yevgeny added. “It has this really detailed story.”

“A new game, huh?” Mickey hummed, amused and appreciative of Ian’s effort.

Ian grinned in response and asked, “Are you hungry? I made spaghetti and meatballs for dinner.  
There’s a plate for you in the fridge, I can warm it up...”

Mickey smirked. “You cooked, too.”

“It’s not that out of the ordinary,” Ian defended. “Don’t act like I don’t cook a lot.”

“You made me a waffle sandwich a couple of days ago,” Mickey reminded.

“That wasn’t a dish I would add highlight reel,” Ian conceded, “but dinner was good, wasn’t it,  
Yev?”

“Really good,” Yevgeny confirmed. “I would’ve eaten your plate if Ian would’ve let me.”

“You can have it if you’re still hungry,” Mickey said, dropping his bag on the chair. “I’m not  
eating.”

“Are you sure?” Ian asked. “It wouldn’t be a big deal for me to put it in the microwave.”

“I had dinner at work. I’m not eating,” Mickey repeated, slower this time so Ian got it. The redhead  
looked like he was going to argue that Mickey should eat something until realization crossed his face.

“Oh good,” Ian grinned. “I’m glad you had something at work.”

“See, you guys are being weird,” Yev pointed out, pausing his game. “I’m serious about eating  
more, though. I’m getting my second wind. Can I have it?”

Mickey laughed. “Second wind? You’re slacking today. You’d usually be on your fourth by now.”

“Tell me about it.”

“Want me to heat it up for you?” Ian offered as Yev past them to head to the kitchen.

“Nah. I can do it,” Yevgeny called back to him. “Thanks, though.”

With Yev out of the room, Ian slipped his hand down the back of Mickey’s slacks and grabbed a  
handful of his ass. The rough touch got Mickey instantly hard. Licking his lips, he waved his  
husband down for a kiss.

“Let’s go upstairs,” Ian whispered, giving Mickey’s lower lip another bite.

“Soon. Want to spend some time with the kid first.” It was true. He wanted to catch up with Yev, but  
he would be lying if he said that getting into bed with Ian wasn’t a priority.

“Yeah, Good. You should,” Ian agreed. His dick was knocking against Mickey’s leg as they made  
out. Unable to help himself, Mickey reached over and wrapped his hand around the outline of Ian’s  
dick, wishing there weren’t basketball shorts in the way.

“You’re ready,” Mickey noted, feeling Ian twitch in his grasp.

“Sounds like you are, too.”

“Really fucking ready,” he confirmed, moving away from Ian as soon as Yev returned to the room.

Out of the corner of his eye, Mickey watched Ian struggle to adjust himself, hoping that Yev didn’t  
notice. “So, walk me through this shit,” Mickey prompted, taking the controller in his hand as he sat  
down next to Yev. His son explained the game with his mouth full of food and Mickey played while  
Yev finished his meal.

After an hour of gameplay and a fair amount of eye fucking with Ian, Mickey decided it was a good  
time to turn in for the night. “I’m beat,” he told his son, who was yawning. “Looks like you are too,  
and you got school tomorrow.”

“Can I come over tomorrow night?” Yev asked as he shut down the game. “I know I’m supposed to  
be at mom’s but I wanna play some more after my game.”

“Fine with me but I have to talk to your mom. I’ll text her in the morning,” Mickey said, shooing  
Yev up the stairs as he turned off the lights.

“I’m glad you like it,” Ian noted as he followed Yevgeny to the second floor.

“Come here, Grumpy,” Yev cooed, clapping for the dog to come into his room.

The dog ambled down the hallway to join Yevgeny. Getting Grumpy out of their room was yet  
another reason why Mickey loved when his son stayed over.

“Night, Yev,” Ian called, disappearing into the master.

“Make sure you set your alarm in the morning. I’ll be up with you but you need to get in the shower  
as soon as it goes off if you’re gonna get to camp in time,” Mickey reminded.

“I will,” Yev promised, giving Grumpy a big hug before ushering him into his bedroom.  
Mickey watched as Yevgeny closed his door and then made his way into his room. As soon as he  
crossed the threshold, his body was slammed against the wall—his husband’s hungry mouth on his,  
hurried hands stripping of him of his pants.

“Need this,” Ian breathed, dropping his lips to Mickey’s neck. “Need you.”

Mickey moaned as Ian sucked on his sensitive skin, loving how desperate Ian was for him. There  
was no denying that Ian had always had a selfish streak, but it never showed up in the bedroom. The  
redhead was down to please and Mickey was happy as hell to take as much as Ian was willing to  
give him.

When Ian dropped to his knees, ready to suck his dick, Mickey nudged his chest with his knee,  
prompting Ian to back stand up.

“Want that cock. Been thinking about it stretching me out all fucking day,” Mickey uttered, grunting  
when Ian lifted him by the ass and tossed him onto the bed.

They made out until they were both fully naked, their bodies gyrating into the other reflexively as  
they ached for the connection they craved.

The fucking started off slow and sensual, with promises of devotion and sweet affirmations. Ian took  
his time, pulling out entirely to tease Mickey’s hole with his tip before plunging in and shimmying  
his hips to make space. The fullness was exactly what Mickey needed, feeling complete in the way  
only Ian could fulfill. He frowned when Ian pulled out, inch by inch. Mickey groaned at the  
anticipation of loss.

Smirking down at him, Ian wrapped his hand around his shaft and asked, “You want it, baby?”  
“C’mere,” Mickey breathed, waving Ian in for a kiss as he lifted his hips, answering husband’s  
question.

“Wanna hear you ask for it,” Ian said, rubbing his dick against Mickey’s opening.

Looping his legs more tightly around Ian’s narrow waist so his husband was closer to his body,  
Mickey uttered, “Gimme that cock.” His hole pulsed at the mere mention of his man’s member.

“Push it in, man. One stroke. All the way in.”

“Love seeing you like this,” Ian crooned, gazing deep in Mickey’s eyes as he plunged his dick in.  
Mickey quivered from the pressure of his husband’s cock. He moaned as Ian rocked into him,  
steadily hitting his spot with every pump. Digging his nails into the redhead’s broad shoulder blades,  
Mickey’s heavy cock thumped against his stomach. “Fuck, I’m cumming.”

Ian didn’t break his rhythm, fucking Mickey good as he shot cum over both of their bellies.

“Hands free, huh?” Ian remarked proudly, as he gave Mickey a kiss.

“I’m not gonna he impressed unless you can fuck another one outta me,” Mickey taunted, smiling  
when his husband grabbed him and flipped him over.

“On your stomach,” Ian demanded, ready to go to work. Mickey loved that his man was always  
down for a challenge.

He buried his face in their sheets as Ian bore into his ass. The bed was squeaking loudly under the  
intensity and Mickey reluctantly lifted his head to remind Ian that they weren’t alone.

“You’re gonna have to drop a stack in the game store to make up for waking him up,” Mickey  
teased, gasping when Ian fish hooked his mouth and continued to fuck him relentlessly.

“Holy shit, holy shit,” Mickey chanted as Ian destroyed him. The pain was wrapped up in an insane  
amount of pleasure and Mickey could barely recognize that animalistic sounds being emitted from his  
own mouth.

Ian tangled his fingers in Mickey’s hair and yanked his head toward him until Mickey’s back was  
arched like a contortionist. It hurt like hell but Mickey wasn’t about to complain when he was being  
plowed like it was their last fuck. A tilt of his head gave him the perfect view of his man frogging his  
strong legs to to get the perfect leverage.

“Fill me up,” Mickey pleaded, anxious to feel the steady stream of cum he knew was waiting in his  
husband’s heavy balls. “Want it all.”

“You’re ready to take all my cum, baby?” Ian crooned, pistoning like a heat seeking rocket.

“Give it to me.” He could feel Ian’s cock swell as it continued to stretch his walls and then pulse as  
he delivered shot after shot of hot jizz deep inside of Mickey.

The way the redhead was fucking his cum into him had Mickey blowing again, this time all over  
their sheets.

With one final groan, Ian collapsed next to Mickey who laid face down on the bed, completely  
wrecked.

Ian was too breathless to speak, but he managed to huff out the question that Mickey knew was on  
his mind, “Did you touch your dick?”

Chuckling into the sheets, Mickey mumbled, “No.”

Though he couldn’t see his husband’s face he knew that there was a big fat grin on it.

Job well done.

Chapter Twenty-Two: Beautiful, Beautiful, Beautiful Life

The morning sun seeped through their bedroom blinds as Ian sleepily pulled Mickey in closer to him.  
He hugged his arms around husband’s body, loving how muscular Mickey’s back was against his  
chest. Mickey’s body had become solid over the years, a side effect of years in prison, a physically  
taxing job, and Ian’s career. His smile and ass were still soft, but that was about it.  
Ian remembered what it was like to hold Mickey as a teenager, even the stolen hugs that Mickey  
hadn’t wanted to give at the time. They were both skinny kids, but Mickey had always had the  
slightest hint of a tummy, a feature that Ian missed sometimes. As far as he was concerned, his  
husband looked better and better with age, but there was a lot of nostalgia wrapped up in the bodies  
they used to have. He chuckled softly, remembering times when they were the same height. Mickey  
had spent a couple of months in juvie and during that time, Ian shot up like a weed, a fact that had  
shocked Mickey upon his return. They’d spent too much time apart, always coming back to a body  
that was vaguely familiar but easily learned. It was crazy to consider that there were times when Ian  
didn’t know every inch of Mickey. There had been so many physical and emotional changes during  
those years but the desire never waned.

“What’re you laughing about?” Mickey mumbled, intertwining their fingers as he scooted in as close  
as humanly possible to Ian.

“I was thinking about when we were the same height,” Ian replied, nestling his nose into the back of  
Mickey’s neck. He took a deep inhale of his husband’s scent. That had never changed. It must have  
been pheromones that had Ian addicted to the smell of Mickey’s skin. Whatever it was, Mickey was  
intoxicating. He wondered if that would change when his husband was old and reeked like Bengay,  
piss, and cigarettes. Somehow, he doubted there could be anything that would turn him off.

“Fuck you,” Mickey whispered. “It’s too early for your bullshit.”

“Seriously,” Ian defended. “I must’ve been a sophomore in high school, maybe a freshman? You  
would come into the Kash and Grab and steal all that shit. When we first started fucking. I think we  
were exactly the same height.”

“I had a few inches on you,” Mickey corrected, earning a hearty laugh from Ian. “What?”

“If anything it was the other way around. You’re attitude was big, but I think you were pretty small.”  
Mickey turned over so he was facing, their lips millimeters from one another on Ian’s pillow. “Didn’t  
stop you from being scared of me.”

“I wouldn’t say I was scared...” Ian began, cutting himself off when he saw Mickey’s eyebrows fly  
up to the middle of his forehead. “Maybe I was a little afraid, but not enough not to go for it.”

“I don’t know if you really went for it.”

“Oh, I went for it,” Ian confirmed, loving the way that his husband chuckled at the statement.  
“I think I went for it.”

“Barely. You were so fucking hard to get. Holy shit. I think I chased your ass around for three years  
before I actually felt like I had you.”

“It’s a good ass,” Mickey reminded, laughing when Ian grabbed to healthy handfuls of his posterior.

“The best.”

“Don’t remind me that you got anyone to compare it, too.”

“Nobody compares,” Ian crooned, slotting his mouth on Mickey’s. It wasn’t lip service, either.

Mickey was the pinnacle on so many levels, his ass being the least important.

“I’m proud,” he teased, giving Ian a smirk that absolutely killed him.

“Fuck, I’m so in love with you.”

Mickey rested his tattooed fingers on Ian’s cheek and gave him a little pat. “I love you, too.” He kept  
his palm pressed against the skin. “So much, baby. You know that, right?”

“Yes. So good at showing me,” Ian whispered. “You give me everything I need.”

“Doesn’t feel like it,” Mickey said, breaking Ian’s heart with the admission. The last thing he wanted  
was for Mickey to feel that way. There was no way that anyone would be better in their situation  
than he was. As usual, Mickey was too hard on himself.

“It should,” Ian promised. “I’m grateful for you every single day, Mick. Believe me. I know I’m not  
easy...”

“Hmm,” Mickey hummed. “You seem pretty easy to me. Never had a problem fucking you  
whenever I wanted to...”

“You know what I mean,” Ian admonished, pecking Mickey’s lips. “There’s a lot that comes with  
being with me.”

“Wouldn’t trade it for anything,” Mickey assured him.

“Sometimes I wonder if you wish you were still with Jake. You’re whole life would be a lot less  
complicated.”

Mickey cringed at the mention of his ex-boyfriend’s name, an action that Ian found very reassuring.  
It was impossible not to worry that Mickey regretted breaking things off with Jake. After all, the  
other guy had his shit together in a way that Ian never did. Though Ian doubted that Jake could ever  
love Mickey the way that he didn’t, he feared that the cop would have been able to give Mickey an  
easier life. “No, but every time you bring him up I wish you didn’t.”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I,” Mickey stated, glaring at Ian with a good amount of aggravation behind his eyes.

“I’ve had to think about Theo lately.”

“And that means we gotta bring up my ex?” Mickey scoffed. “I don’t think so, man. Jake’s outta the  
picture.”

“I wish Theo was, too.”

“Yeah, well, it ain’t that easy,” Mickey tsked. “You got yourself involved in a fucking machine.”

“I know.”

Ian watched as Mickey opened his mouth and then closed, as if he was catching the words he was  
going to say before they snuck out.

“What?” Ian pried. “You were about to say something...”

“It still fucks me up,” Mickey confessed.

“The engagement?”

“That and, I dunno, the whole idea of him. I mean, I know you’ve always liked older guys...”

“You’re older,” Ian joked. He clapped his mouth shut when he saw unamused his husband was by  
the quip. “I was really high throughout our whole relationship. I’m not saying I don’t remember it  
and that I wasn’t in it, but it was never real. I’d had the real thing before him. It could never be real  
like that.” He paused, debating whether he should press his luck and be as forthcoming as he  
wanted to be. Deciding to go for it, Ian asked, “But it was real for you with Jake, right? It seemed  
like you had a connection.”

“We were never engaged,” Mickey noted. “Not like you were.”

“We’re not talking about me and my very public engagement that I regret...a lot. We’re talking  
about you.”

“You’re talking about me,” Mickey clarified. “I’m talking about you.”

“I noticed,” Ian grumbled. “I don’t know. It seemed like an easy life at the time. I was dead inside  
and I just had to move through the motions.”

“And you were ready to do that indefinitely?”

“I was outta my mind and as soon as I came to my senses I was on you,”

“You wouldn’t have been if I wasn’t out of prison. If I would’ve been in for another year you  
would’ve been married to him,” Mickey stated, grabbing Ian as he tried to pull away.

Though he’s brought it up, Ian was over the conversation. Everything was too heavy for the  
morning. He wanted to cuddle with his husband and forget that he was ever stupid enough to bring  
up a subject that would ruin their few quiet moments of the day.

“I would’ve left him,” Ian said. “A universe doesn’t exist where we wouldn’t have been together.  
Maybe it would have taken longer, but I would’ve been with you ‘cause that’s the way shit was  
meant to be.”

“Then why bother to ask me about Jake?” Mickey challenged. “If you know that we were always  
gonna be endgame, why bring it up? You wanna torture yourself or something?”

“More that I don’t want to torture you,” Ian corrected. “I don’t want you to wish that you were with  
him instead of me.” Even uttering the words were painful. There was no way that he would ever be  
able to give Mickey permission to move past him. When push came to shove, Ian would fight for  
Mickey, fight for their relationship because it was all be understood, all he wanted to know.

“It’s crazy that after all of these years there’s so much about me that you don’t understand,” Mickey  
noted. “I thought you would’ve gotten it by now.”

“Gotten what?”

“I’d rather suffer with you than be stable with anyone else.” Mickey raked his fingers through Ian’s  
hair. The touch was much more soothing than the statement.

“Are you suffering with me?”

“Don’t twist the shit I say,” Mickey chided. “You’re it for me, Ian. Good and bad, up and down.  
You’re it.”

“And you want me to be?” Ian asked, leaning into his vulnerability. There was no use trying to hide  
it. It permeated every bit of being. He felt like a walking wound, exposed to the elements and  
stinging.

“Let me be in love with you, okay? It’s so easy for me.”

“Okay,” Ian whispered, resting his forehead on Mickey’s. “And let me worry that I’m not enough.”

“Never,” Mickey objected, making Ian consider what he would’ve said if the same situation was  
flipped.

He shut his mouth.

Chapter Twenty-Three: A Little Chat

When Mickey didn’t hear from Theo for two days, he figured that the Senator didn’t get his the  
message or that he was too pussy to call him back. History made Mickey believe it was the latter.  
Theo had let Ian walk all over him and then asked for more. Mickey knew Ian’s power better than  
anyone, but he liked to think that even throughout his weakest moments with his husband he’d  
exhibited more of a backbone than Ian’s ex-fiancé had. Though Mickey wasn’t privy to the ins-and-outs   
of Ian and Theo’s relationship—a fact he was grateful for—he knew enough to have opinions  
about the mind of man the politician was. It was obvious the night of Theo’s grand proposal what his  
prioritizes were. He wanted the trophy husband, the perfect picture, without having to put in the  
work it took to be a good partner. Mickey wouldn’t have given a shit about Theo’s superficiality if it  
handed affected Ian’s health. Theo was a grown-ass man. He should have been able to see that his  
fiancé had a raging coke habit. Mickey faulted him for the lack of intervention. As far as he was  
concerned, Theo’s willful oversight was a testament to the value that he put on Ian. There was no  
chance in Hell that Mickey would ever be able to neglect someone that he loved like that.  
It was confusing, though, that Theo had continued to date Ian after he’d found out about all of the  
“complications” that would run someone who was in the public eye away. From what Ian had told  
him, Theo was born and groomed to be President. Mickey was admittedly bias and thought that Ian  
was the most attractive man to walk the face of the Earth, but he knew that there were a lot other  
gorgeous men in Chicago. He couldn’t understand why Theo hadn’t tried to shack up with them  
rather than a troubled kid from the South Side. Ian’s dick was good as fuck, but Mickey wouldn’t  
have thought it would be enough for an upper-crust dude with Presidential aspirations to put his  
dreams in peril.

Truthfully, he wanted to punch Theo in his well-tanned face. If he had given half a shit about Ian he  
would never have put him in the position that he had. Maybe people weren’t built to be as protective  
as Mickey was, but then they shouldn’t have pretended to be. When the cheating scandal broke,  
Mickey had felt guilty for being a part of it, for causing so much trouble in Theo’s life. But, the more  
he understood the situation, the less guilt he felt. Theo had played with a flame without bothering to  
fireproof himself. Instead he was surrounded by keepers who ready to turn the hose on Ian and  
blame him for having the spark that Theo had been drawn to in the first place. It didn’t seem like the  
Senator was willing to deal with any of the issues on his own, employing a couple of thugs to  
intimidate Ian into complying with their bullshit expectation list. That’s why Mickey was surprised  
when he received a phone call directly from Theo and not one of his handlers.

“Is this Mickey Milkovich?” the voice on the other end of the line inquired after Mickey barnes a  
brusk “hello.”

“Who wants to know?”

“Uh, this is Theo Goodwyn,” he said, his voice shaking like he was about to shit his pants.

“Alright. I didn’t think you were gonna call back, figured my message would get wrapped up in  
some kinda red tape...”

“No, I, uh, understand the importance of your call,” Theo assured. “Sorry, I’m a little ner...” he  
cleared his throat, “I didn’t think I’d have the opportunity to speak to you.”

“Yeah, well, here we are,” Mickey grunted, stopping in his tracks in the middle of the sidewalk. “Do  
you wanna do this in person? I can be up to the North Side in twenty minutes. You in the  
government building in Dearborn?” He’d catered a fair amount of functions in the meeting rooms.

“Yeah, um, that’s the one. We can do that. I don’t have anything on the books until noon.”  
Mickey couldn’t help but pleased by how terrified Theo sounded. Making the pussy look in his eyes  
while they talked was part of the reason he was willing to go to his office, the other was the hope that  
he’d run into Margaret and Sean. It wasn’t lost on Mickey that they deserved to shake in their  
designer shoes, too.

Not bothering to say another word, Mickey hung up the phone and crossed he street to catch the L.  
He spent the majority of the ride wondering if he should have just finished the conversation on the  
phone. He wasn’t particularly thrilled about sitting face-to-face with Theo, but the possible benefits  
of intimidating the fuck out of all of them was greater than the aggravation of taking time out of his  
day to do it.

Disembarking the train, he strode toward the State building, ready to bust some metaphorical heads.  
As he checked in, got his visitors’ badge, and walked through the metal detector, Mickey reminded  
himself not to take things too far—no matter how annoyed he got. Ian needed him to be at home, not  
in prison. Popping off on Theo or his cronies would be bad for Ian and that’s why he wasn’t going to  
allow himself to get to that point. People like Theo didn’t handle shit with their fists and Mickey  
didn’t need to have his face splashed across the front covers of newspapers for assaulting a Senator.  
He approached a young blonde woman who was sitting a mahogany desk that was comically  
oversized for her.

“I’m here to see Theo,” Mickey told her.

She grimaced as his familiar language. “And who shall I tell Senator Goodwyn is here to see him?”

“Mickey Milkovich.”

“Okay, Mr. Milkovich. I’ll let him know you’re here.” She stood up and exited the room, glancing  
over her shoulder a few times as she did so. She was gone for less than a minutes when she hurried  
back into the entry and told Mickey that, “Senator Goodwyn is pleased to see you now.”

“Pleased to see me,” Mickey scoffed, following blonde to an expansive corner office.

The city stood proudly behind the full wall of beside Theo’s desk.

“Got a good view of all the little people, huh?” Mickey remarked as Theo stood up to shake his  
hand. Reluctantly, he partook in the pleasantry. It was disturbing to know that that the quivering  
hand in his had touched Ian, held Ian, been within forty-fucking-feet of Ian. The sudden urge to  
crush Theo’s fingers had Mickey yanking his hand away and shoving it into his pocket.

“It’s nice to see you,” Theo said, unable to control the warble in his voice.

Mickey licked his lips and sat down in one of the chairs across from Theo’s. “Is it?”

“Yes. I mean, of course,” Theo replied nervously sinking into his seat. “We have a lot to discuss.”

“Nah, I don’t think we do. I got a lot to say and you got a lot to listen to,” Mickey corrected.

Theo nodded his head like a bobble head. “We can do it that way. Sure. Will Ian be joining us or...?”

“I’m Ian now. Anything you got to say to my husband goes directly to me. He was pretty upset  
about the meeting he had with you and your Gestapo the other day. And when he’s upset, I’m upset.  
I bet you understand that.”

“Yes, I know that he can get worked up and it’s difficult to calm...” Theo stopped speaking as soon  
as he saw the death glare on Mickey’s face.

“Here’s what were not gonna do,” Mickey seethed, leaning forward in his chair. “You’re not gonna  
talk about my husband like you know shit about him. He spent years with you getting more and  
more addicted to cocaine and you didn’t do dick about it. You don’t know Ian. You don’t talk about  
Ian.”

“I got it,” Theo said, holding his hands up in surrender. “I’m here to listen.”

“Good. Then hear this, there’s not gonna be anymore meetings with your staff or bullshit lists of  
expectations. If people bring him up to you or your thugs, you tell them that Ian’s moved on and is  
happily married. That he doesn’t need to be a part of conversation because he’s so far in your past  
that he’s hanging out with your goddamn mother when she was a toddler.”

Theo nodded his understanding. “Absolutely.” He licked his lips as if he was preparing to say  
something else. “You know that I can’t, uh, control the press if they try to reach out to him. I would  
if I could, but I really don’t have the ability.”

“I understand how the free press works, Kim Jong Un. I’ll deal with them. Are Pinky and the Brain  
around?”

“Margaret and Sean?” Theo attempted to clarify.

Mickey stared it him, making it quite obvious that he didn’t give a fuck what their names were.

“Right. Um, no, they won’t be in until later this afternoon.”

Mickey stood up, having had enough of the meeting. “Alright. You’ll pass on the details of our  
talk?”

“Absolutely,” Theo promised, standing up to shake Mickey’s hand.

“Yeah, we don’t gotta do that again,” Mickey grumbled, seeing himself out. He’d done what he  
went there to do and he was sure that his message was received. Loud and clear.

Chapter Twenty-Four: Catching Up

Ian didn’t get to see Carl in person as often as he wanted to, but he made it a point to FaceTime with  
his brother at least once a week. Over the years, he’d grown even closer to the kid. It was strange  
that Carl was living the life Ian had always thought he would. Ian’s stint in the military was short-lived  
and marred with mistakes, but Carl has made it work. He’d achieved everything Ian thought  
that he would—from graduating from military school to enlisting and building a successful career.  
The parallels between his childhood dreams and Carl’s reality were jarring, especially with the  
addition of Carl’s look-a-like fiancé. It was odd for Ian to feel like he was peeking in on what  
could’ve been when he talked to his brother, but it didn’t deter him from keeping their connection  
strong.

Despite Ian’s obvious hardships, he had nothing to complain about. He was married to the love of his  
life, had a good job, and great friends. Whenever he compared his circumstances to Carl’s and what  
he’d thought he would have had, he was smacked in the face by what he did.

“How’s it going?” Ian asked, leaning back on his living room couch as he smiled at his brother on  
the phone screen. “You look good.”

“Thanks. Just ran a few miles,” Carl replied, holding his wet beater away from his skin with his free  
fingers. “Conditioning season.”

“What’s your mile at?”

Carl smirked. “Don’t worry about it.”

Laughing, Ian said, “That means it’s faster than mine.”

“If you’re still at what you were last month...yeah it is,”

“Asshole,” Ian tsked, playfully. “How’s Gage?”

“Good. We’re gonna go see his family in a couple week. They’ve got a lake house in Louisiana.”

“You sure it’s not a swamp house?”

“Can’t be positive but even if it is I’m gonna fuck around on jet skis with the alligators.”

“Sounds like fun,” Ian grinned.

He’d been tossing around the idea of telling his brothers and Mandy about his relapse. It wasn’t  
something he wanted to talk about, but even of the thought of it was a major stressor in his life. Ian  
knew that the more support he had, the more prepared he’d feel to face the demon, who seemed  
intent to keep tearing his ugly head in his life.

“How about you? How are things going?”

“Good,” Ian replied. “Mickey’s gonna be home any minute. He’s been working a lot, doing really  
well as manager.”

“Awesome,” Carl nodded. “And how about you?”

“Things have been kinda complicated.”

The immediate expression of concern on Carl’s face made Ian regret the fact that he’d said anything.  
“In what way?”

“Did you see that Theo is being considered for Vice President? I guess they’re still going through the  
vetting process but he’s a frontrunner.”

“I did,” Carl replied. “I didn’t want to bring it up in case it was stressful for you. Has it been?”

“I mean,” Ian sighed. “Kinda. I met with him and his strategic team a couple weeks ago and they  
gave me this list of expectations of how I’d handle the press or whatever.”

“Shit,” Carl groaned.

“Yeah.”

“And do you gotta follow them?”

“Technically, no, but I honestly don’t know how any of it’s going to go,” Ian answered, gnawing on  
the inside of his cheek.

“It’s not exactly something that a lot of people have to deal with.”

“Right. I don’t know...I was really stressed out after the meeting.”

“Did Mick go with you? What does he think?”

“He couldn’t. He has a big event. He basically thinks I should tell them to ‘fuck off.’”  
Carl chuckled. “Yeah, that’s pretty on brand.”

Ian smiled and admired his brother’s face, not wanting to see the disappointed he knew would be on  
it if Ian told Carl about the cocaine.

“I agree with him, though. You don’t owe anyone anything. There’s no reason for you to apologize  
for who you are or anything you’ve done. You’ve already made shit good with everyone who  
matters,” Carl reasoned. “Who gives a fuck what the general public thinks?”

“Theo,” Ian replied.

“Well, do you give a fuck about Theo?”

“I’m not sure. I guess I do in some ways, enough to not want to cause him problems. It’s not like  
he’s a bad guy...”

“Fine, but you’re not a bad guy either. Remember that.”

Ian nodded. He didn’t want Carl to think differently if he told him that he was still struggling with a  
habit he should have kicked before it had started. Deciding not to go there, Ian said, “Thanks for  
that.”

“I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t think it.”

“I know.”

“I’m gonna go shower up,” Carl said. “My balls are sticking to my ass something major.”

“Good to know,” Ian chuckled. “Go take care of that.”

“Take it easy, Ian. Don’t let any of that Theo stuff get you down, okay?”

Ian nodded and hung up the phone, tossing it to the other side of the couch as he laid back to watch  
TV. He was fully invested in an episode of Law and Order when Mickey got home.

“This serial killer is savage,” Ian stated, pointing at the screen.

“Aren’t they all?” Mickey wondered, dropping his bag on the chair.

“Yeah, but this dude is next level. He takes his victims eardrums.”

Mickey cringed. “The fuck does he want with those?”

“Not sure. It’s a trophy or something. He keeps them in jars that he has lined up on a shelf in his  
basement.”

“Fuck.”

“Yeah, it’s nasty. I wanna hear about your day, babe, but I gotta see if he pleads guilty first.”

“Obviously,” Mickey agreed, disappearing into the kitchen.

Ian could hear the rustling of a Doritos bag. He patted the seat beside him when his husband came  
back in the room. “Come sit with me. I’ll rub your feet.”

Mickey grinned and kicked off his shoes, eagerly getting in position.

“Don’t chew so loud, though,” Ian chided, as he removed Mickey’s socks. “It’s distracting.”

“You wanted me in here,” Mickey murmured, crumbs flying from his mouth with every word. “Now  
you got me.”

Sighing, Ian’s eyes focused on the show as his hands worked Mickey’s feet. It was impossible to  
ignore his husband’s chomping in spite of his concerted effort to try.

“I’m hungry,” Mickey defended, when Ian glared at him.

“You chew so loud.”

“Do you want me to choke?”

“Of course not.”

“Then shut the fuck up.”

Ian took the advice and enjoyed the rest of the show, turning off the TV as soon as it was over.  
“How was your day?”

“Busy. I had a sit down with Theo today,” Mickey replied, nonchalantly.

“You did?” Ian uttered, his heart beating rapidly at the though of Mickey and Theo in the same  
room.

“Yeah.”

“Wow. How’d that go?”

“He’s a pussy,” Mickey answered, tossing the empty chip bag on the floor. It took mere seconds for  
Grumpy to come running, disappointed when he found nothing but dust left.

“Did you tell him that?” Ian wondered. “That he’s a pussy.”

“Didn’t have to. He knows.”

“What did you talk about?” Though the answer was obvious, Ian wanted to know every single word  
exchanged. It was bizarre to imagine how everything had gone down.

“How they’re gonna forget your fucking name...”

“Is that even possible with all the press?” Ian wondered, skeptically.

“He can say he’s not talking about it. There’s no reason he has to acknowledge the shit they ask.”

“But Margaret and Sean said that it better to get in front of the stories they’re gonna try to sell,” Ian  
explained. He hated the idea, but he understood it.

“Better for who? For them! For him? Who gives a fuck. You’ve moved on and the voters or  
whoever can do the same or they can not. It’s up to them and don’t got anything to do with you,”

Mickey spat, his reasoning on par with what Carl had said hours earlier.

“I feel guilty,” Ian admitted.

“What do you feel guilty about?”

“I don’t know. I complicate everything, for everyone.”

Mickey raised an aggravated eyebrow. “You’re worried about him?”

“No, not like that. It’s just, he’s a good guy, Mick. He actually wants to do important things for the  
country. I hate that I could stand in the way of him being able to do any of that.”

Mickey sat up straight and crossed his arms over he chest. The defensive stance only made Ian feel  
worse about the situation. “You could just follow their list. Go out there and declare that you’re a  
manipulative, scamming, piece of south side trash like they want you to. Say that you lied to Theo  
about who you are and where you're from...do that is you want. I don’t give a fuck.”

“Oh c’mon,” Ian tsked. “I’m grateful that you went over there, I just feel kinda bad. That’s all.”

“Yeah, well, I’m sure they don’t feel shit for you,” Mickey said with a huff. And just like that he was  
stomping up the stairs.

Knowing that he had to show his husband he was thankful for his efforts, Ian took a few minutes to  
get his thoughts together before heading upstairs.

Mickey was laying supine on the bed, staring at the ceiling with his headphones on.

“Don’t be like this,” Ian pleaded as he pulled an earbud out of his husband’s ear.

“I’m not being like anything. I took care of shit that I needed to take care of and you’re being a little  
bitch.”

“I know you’re coming from a good place.”

Mickey ran his tongue over his bottom teeth, a clear indicator that he was really fucking annoyed.

“Yeah and how about them? You were so fucked up after that meeting that you snorted a fucking 8-  
Ball. You think they care about what place that shit put you in.”

“That was on me,” Ian said, softly. “I should’ve been able to handle it better.”

“They should’ve laid the fuck off of you,” Mickey cried, staring at Ian like he was an idiot. “It ain’t  
like it’s a secret that you’ve got problems. They don’t need to knock on your door with anything  
that’s gonna make shit worse.” He sighed and rested his hand on Ian’s knee when he saw how Ian  
recoiled. “I didn’t mean anything by it.”

“I know.”

“You’ve been exploited enough...”

“I love you,” Ian stated, unzipping Mickey’s work pants.

“What’re you doing?” Mickey asked as Ian moved down his body.

“You know exactly what I’m doing. You’re always taking care of me. I wanna take care of you.”

“You don’t gotta...” Mickey began, cutting himself off, “but you can if you wanna.”

Ian grinned up at Mickey’s smirking face. “Could spend my whole life on my knees for you, Mick,  
and I wouldn’t even come close to giving you what you deserve.”

Mickey tangled his fingers in Ian’s hair and pushed his face toward his dick. “I’m not gonna stop you  
from trying.”

Ian was game.

Chapter Twenty-Five: My Blood

Working at FIG had increased Mickey’s interest in good food. Before his time in the culinary world,  
he’d specialized in pizza rolls and pop tarts. While he still considered the foods to be an important  
part of his moderately healthy diet, he’d expanded his palate and cooking capabilities. He was far  
from a chef, but he could get a balanced, edible dinner on the table for Yevgeny.

“Chicken Fajitas,” Mickey said, placing a plate in front of his son.

“It looks good,” Yev complimented, “I’m probably not gonna eat the onions though.”

“Why? You kissing someone later?”

Yevgeny blushed at the question, and promptly changed the subject. “Where’s Ian?”

“Uh, he’s got a meeting,” Mickey replied, deciding to keep it vague considering that his husband  
was at his first NA meeting.

“What kinda meeting? Something for work?" Yev pressed.

“Nah, something different.”

“For the drug stuff?” He told me about his cocaine problem. He seemed embarrassed.”

Mickey wasn’t surprised that Yevgeny brought up the conversation. Ian had told him how it had all

gone down and that Yev had asked a ton of questions. “Yeah, um, it’s not something he’s proud of.”

“A lot of guys and my school think it’s goals to do that kinda stuff.”

“Do you?” Mickey asked, taking a break from eating so he could regard Yevgeny expectantly.

Yev shakes his head. “Not really.”

“You ever try anything like that?”

“Cocaine?”

“That or anything else.”

Yevgeny narrowed his eyes skeptically. “Are you gonna get mad at me if I have?”

“I’d be the biggest fucking hypocrite on Earth if I did.” As much as he didn’t want to know, he  
pushed forward. “Weed, beer, vaping?”

“A couple of things.”

Mickey was surprised that the admission knocked the wind out of him. He remembered holding the  
kids as a toddler, and now they were discussing drug use. He had no idea where the time went. “Oh  
yeah?”

“Not cocaine or anything, but weed and a few different types of alcohol.”

“You like it?”

“Which one?”

“Any of them.”

“Not smoking. It just made me cough a lot and I didn’t really feel anything.”

Mickey wanted to tell him that he wasn’t doing it right but decided to refrain.

“I liked beer and vodka though,” Yev noted.

“Together?” Mickey cringed.

His son laughed. “No. At different times.”

“Have you been drunk?”

“Yeah.”

Shit. That was wild. “Does your mom know?”

“I drank the vodka with her.”

Mickey pursed his lips and nodded his head, attempting to hide his aggravation. He couldn’t deny  
that Svetlana was a good mother but she had this fucked up view of youth considering she’d never  
experienced it on her own. “And the beer with friends? At parties or whatever?”

“Mm-hmm.”

He’d naively thought his son had an innocence that was rarely seen on the South Side, but evidently  
he was wrong. It wasn’t like Mickey was disappointed, it was more that he was surprised that his kid  
was living a whole life that he didn’t know anything about. He’d done the same at Yev’s age, but  
nobody had given a shit about him the way they cared about Yevgeny.

“It’s not bad, huh?” Mickey said.

“I like it.”

“Listen,” Mickey began, clearing his throat, “if you ever get really fucked up, like beyond what you  
think you can handle or whatever, I want you to call me. I won’t give you shit or anything. I just  
don’t want you ending up passed out in an alley or something, all incoherent and covered in your  
own puke.” He paused and then added. “People will steal all your shit, your phone, your wallet, your  
shoes...everything.”

“My shoes aren’t that great.”

“They’re great when it’s colder than a witches tittie outside.”

“I’ll call you,” Yev promised. “I’d never do what Ian does.”

“He doesn’t really do it anymore.”

“He said he was high at my game. I could tell...”

“Yeah, but he doesn’t do it like he used to.”

“Did you do it with him?”

“For a while,” Mickey confessed. “We fucked around with it when we were teenagers or whatever,  
but he got hooked on the stuff. It happens to a lot of people. That’s why you shouldn’t even start. I’m  
not gonna tell you not to smoke weed or drink, but the hard shit, Yev, don’t do it. We never should  
have. Ian’s gonna deal with it for the rest of his life.”

“Deal with wanting to do it?”

“Yeah. He knows it’s fucking poison but he can’t help wanting to. It’s like inviting a parasite into  
your body to make you sick.”

“Why didn’t you get addicted to it?”

“Honestly, I don’t know,” Mickey replied. He didn’t understand addiction, even though he lived  
with it. “I could’ve. It would’ve been the same thing he goes through.”

“I’m glad it’s not like that for you.”

“Still gotta deal with it.”

“But it’s different when it’s not your body, right?” Yev said, easily.

Mickey didn’t know how to explain that Ian’s body was his, that it always had been. Every  
depressive episode, every manic phase, hit him in the chest, ran through his blood. It was too much  
for a kid to understand and too overwhelming to explain. He settled on saying, “We’re married,” as if  
it answered enough.

“Were you mad at him? When he did cocaine?”

“Yeah.”

“But you both said that he can’t really control it. How can you be mad at something he can’t  
control?”

Mickey bit his lower lip, unsure of how to respond to the very valid question. “I guess I just wish he  
could and if he knew he was going to go there, he should’ve called me.”

“What could you have done?”

“Tried,” Mickey muttered, “Tried to stop him.”

“D’you think it would’ve worked?”

“Nine times outta ten it could, but there’s always that one time when it wouldn’t.” He wanted to tell  
his son that that’s what scared him, but he wasn’t willing to show Yevgeny his fear.

“It’s not as cool as the guys at school say it is,” Yevgeny decided. “It seems awful. Why would  
anyone do it?”

“They don’t see the other side.”

“Did you?”

“I didn’t see it before Ian.” He didn’t see anything. It was strange to reflect on his life, and how  
empty it had been prior to getting with Ian Gallagher. Everything he was afraid of back then didn’t  
phase him anymore. Homophobes could fucking suck his dick. His father could hate him for the rest  
of his life and he would consider it a compliment. South Side bangers thinking he was soft, they  
wouldn’t dare.

“But now you do?”

“Yeah. You should, too. Don’t want you to fuck with any of that shit, okay? Coke, Crack, Crystal,  
Crank, Smack...none of that. Don’t shoot shit up with a needle and don’t smoke it unless it’s weed.”

“Weed’s okay?”

“It’s fine. Just don’t get caught.”

“You and Ian smoke cigarettes...”

“And?”

“And you told me not to.”

“My lungs are probably disintegrating as we speak. If you want to be able to run the bases for a  
while you won’t fuck with smoking.”

It was crazy how long he’d been smoking cigarettes. He’d never kissed Ian without one of them  
tasting like nicotine. After stealing the first dozen kisses with Ian, Mickey began to equate the taste of  
a cigarette with the redhead. Both had become an addiction for him, and he wasn’t willing to shake  
either.

“I won’t,” Yev promised. He took a moment to sit silently before telling Mickey, “You’re a good  
dad.”

“Who told you that?”

“Nobody. I just think it.”

“What makes you think it?”

Yevgeny shrugged. “I dunno...you care.”

“That seems like the bare minimum.” He didn’t mention that his father never did.

“I can’t explain it,” Yev said. “You just are.”

“Okay.” Mickey wasn’t sure if he was supposed to tell Yevgeny that he was a good son and he  
couldn’t bring himself to do it even though he knew that Yev was. He considered thanking him, but  
that seemed too corny, too. “That’s good.”

“Yeah.”

“Wanna show me how to play that cowboy game Ian got you?” Mickey asked as he took the last bite  
of his meal.

“Sure. Do you want to have a beer while we play?”

Mickey stared at Yevgeny like he’d lost his fucking mind. “Do I want to or should we?”

“Do you want to,” Yevgeny amended. “Not me, just you.”

“I’m alright,” he said regarding his son with raised eyebrows. “Don’t forget you’re twelve.”

“I won’t.”

“And not in Russia,” Mickey added, clearing Yev’s plate.

“Got it.”

Mickey hoped he did. As much as he supported Yevgeny being a typical teenager, he didn’t want to  
face the chance that he could have another addict on his hands. He wanted better for Ian and he sure  
as shit wanted better for Yevgeny.

“Are you gonna tell mom about the weed?” Yev questioned as they made their way into the living  
room.

“She didn’t tell me dick about the vodka.”

“So, that’s a no?”

Mickey liked that his son was still worried about getting in trouble with his parents. It spoke to him  
being able to keep shit under control.

“Oh yeah,” Mickey confirmed, grabbing the controller. “Just don’t do anything dumb.”

“I won’t,” Yev promised.

“And you know what’s stupid, right?”

Yevgeny nodded.

Somehow, Mickey believed him.

Chapter Twenty-Six: Hard Day’s Night

Ian woke up with Mickey’s body wrapped around his trunk. Nuzzling his face into his husband’s  
hair, he enjoyed the quiet moment for as long. He knew that time was limited and that he needed to  
get to the gym, but he didn’t want to peel away. Things had been getting better with the day and he  
savored every minute he got with Mickey. If Mickey was made differently, he might not have been  
willing to put up with everything that Ian brought to their door. But Mickey was loyal and loving in a  
rare way. Ian wasn’t around a lot of married people, but he knew what they had was special, because  
Mickey was special. He wanted to be the way Mickey was. He hoped he was growing into it. As  
much as he loved his husband, being solid didn’t come as easily to him. He’d put himself first for so  
long that he had to consciously make an effort to be better than how he’d been in the past.  
Sometimes Ian wondered what he’d ever done to deserve Mickey. Ian had put in some work in the  
beginning when Mickey was scared, but his man had more than made up for the way he’d pushed  
Ian away and all of the thwarted kisses. It wasn’t like Mickey ever had it easy. That’s what made his  
commitment to Ian even more miraculous. There was so much that should have held Mickey back  
and once things were serious between them, Mickey never let anything get in the way.

“Baby,” Ian whispered, rubbing Mickey’s back soothingly. “I gotta go to work.”

“Call out,” Mickey mumbled, holding on tighter. “Tell them I died or something.”

Ian pinched Mickey’s lips between his fingers and hushed him. “Don’t talk like that. My worst  
nightmare.”

“Then tell ‘em you can’t come in,” Mickey relented. “Want you to stay with me.”

“I called out last week...”

“And? You think they’re gonna fire you?” Mickey scoffed. He gazed up at Ian with sleepy blue  
eyes. “You know better than that. They need you.”

“Yeah, they need me to come into work,” Ian laughed. “It’s Thursday. I cancelled on all my  
Thursday clients last week, Mick.”

“So?”

Mickey never gave Ian shit about going to work. The act of need made Ian seriously consider not  
going in. Maybe his husband needed a lot more attention than he’d been giving him.

“I make enough money for both of us,” Mickey said easily.

The statement had Ian grinning from ear to ear. He was proud as hell at how far Mickey had come.  
Against all odds, he’d worked his way up the corporate ladder—a serious challenge for a felon.  
“Someone’s got big dick energy.”

Mickey smirked. “I mean, you’ve seen it...”

“Mmm,” Ian hummed, pumping Mickey’s hard-on.

“Don’t start a job you ain’t gonna finish,” Mickey warned. “I’ll forgive a lot of shit, but that’s not it.”

“D’you really want me to stay home?” Ian asked. He was committed to do so if Mickey gave him the  
word.

“I want you to, but you probably shouldn’t. I know the job means a lot to you.”

“You mean more.”

“I’d never make you choose.”

“Because you know what I’d choose and you like being dual income motherfuckers,” Ian teased.

“I don’t hate it,” Mickey admitted. “We got a fucking savings account, Gallagher. Shit’s wild.”

“Milkovich.”

“You gotta get over that,” Mickey chided. “Gallagher’s, like, your first name to me.”

“You call me Ian.”

“Only when you make me shit myself.”

“Sexy.”

“Gotta keep it hot,” Mickey mused.

Ian groaned as he let go of Mickey to stretch his arms over his head. “You’re making it hard to  
leave.”

“You’re making it hard in general.”

Grinning, Ian put his hand on Mickey’s dick again. “You’re all about it right now cause you’re  
horny, but if I don’t make it to work we’re both gonna retreat it.”

“Get outta here, then,” Mickey demanded, He grinned as Ian brushed their lips together. “I love  
you.”

“Love you more,” Ian insisted. “I know what I have. If you ever worry that I don’t, I promise you  
that I do.”

“What d’you got other then a big fucking head?”

Chuckling, Ian gave Mickey another kiss before climbing out of bed. He’d waited until the last  
possible moment and he knew if he didn’t get going he’d be late. He showered up and gave his  
husband a series of a dozen of kisses before he actually left the house.

As much as he’s wanted to stay home, he knew he had to go to work. Not only was it good for him  
to have a purpose, it was good for their relationship for them to have some financial equivalency.

While he never believed that Mickey would fault him for being the sole breadwinner, Ian knew all to  
well what kind of power imbalances could come from situations like that. He didn’t want to shake up  
their status quo more than he had. Besides, he had an important client on Thursdays.

“Missed you last week,” Connie crooned, giving Ian a hug as soon as she stepped foot on the gym  
floor.

“Same,” he promised, delivering an extra squeeze.

“Silas just didn’t do it for me.”

Laughing, Ian replied. “Well I’m glad I do it for you.”

“Me too. Your husband’s such a lucky guy,” Connie complimented.

“Oh I promise you I’m the lucky one.”

“I find that hard to believe...”

“You haven’t met Mickey,” Ian said. He had full faith in his statement. No matter how confused he  
was about other shit in his life, he was clear on Mickey.

“I’d like to meet him. Does he ever come work out at the gym?”

“Sometimes. He’s really busy with work.”

He led Connie to her first weight machine and gestured for her to sit down. “Remember to keep your  
elbows out straight. If you collapse them I’m gonna make you do another set of reps.”

“Such a stickler,” Connie chided playfully. As she worked on her exercise, she asked, “What does  
Mickey do?”

“He’s a catering manager.”

“For which company?”

“FIG.”

Ian knew the company was prestigious, but if he hadn’t, Connie’s reaction would have told him so.

“Oh! They have a great rating. Literally zero infractions!”

“Right, you do the dirty dining report,” Ian recalled. “It makes me never want to eat out. Even some  
of the most expensive restaurants in the city are...” He cringed show his distaste. “Are there certain  
places that are consistently good?”

“Absolutely. They’re few and far between but those are the ones I frequent,” Connie replied, letting  
the weights drop after her reps. “I’ll text you the list. I send it to all of my friends.”

“Nice, thanks.” Ian led Connie to the next machine. “You never go to the restaurants on the South  
Side. I mean, I don’t blame you...it’s just something I’ve noticed.”

Connie smirked. “You’ve been watching me?”

“It’s compelling journalism.”

She laughed. “I pay you. You have to say that.”

“I have to say you’re gonna reach your goals if you aim for them,” Ian noted. “I don’t have to say  
anything about your job. Seriously though, I enjoy it.”

“That makes me happy,” Connie states. “And we should do more reports on the South Side. Are you  
a South Side kid?”

Ian nodded. “I was and then I wasn’t and now I am again. I don’t think anyone would be as shocked  
by the findings as they are about places on Michigan Ave. It probably wouldn’t lend itself to really  
suspenseful lead ins, ’Which South Side restaurant rates dastardly in this week’s dirty dining  
report...’ it would be all of ‘em.”

“I don’t that’s true,” Connie tsked.

“Have you ever been South of the loop?” Ian wondered. “Taken the L?”

“Of course I’ve take the L.”

“The Redline?” Ian clarified.

Connie was silent for a moment before confirming, “Of course I’ve taken the Redline.”

“Something tells me you don’t make a habit of it.”

“I don’t make a habit of anything aside from coming to the gym,” Connie said. “Everything else  
inconsistent at best.” She paused her exercise for long enough to ask Ian. “What about you? You  
have any habits?”

Ian shrugged non-committedly, knowing that Connie wasn’t asking anything pointed. There was no  
way she could have been privy to the habit that plagued him. “I mean, eating well and working out  
—those are my habits.”

“I can tell. Not only are you in incredible shape, but your skin’s really good. I have to go to my  
dermatologist to get top layer of my skin scraped off and I still don’t glow like you.”

“You look great,” Ian said honestly. “Seriously, you have it all together.”

“I’m glad people believe that.”

“It means you’re doing something right.”

“At least I have that,” Connie relented. “Life can be complicated.”

“For sure,” Ian agreed, taking her hand and helping her off of the machine. “But when it gets  
complicated, we just focus on sweating. Remove the toxins and welcome positivity into our body.”

“That’s so metaphysical of you.”

“I can whip it out sometimes.”

“Bet that makes your husband happy,” Connie teased, earning a chuckle from Ian.

“He doesn’t complain. Not about that at least.”

“About other things?”

Ian shrugged. “Not really, but he should.”

“I doubt that.”

“Don’t. Believe me. I’m a lot to handle.”

“I know plenty of women who would willing to try,” she noted.

Holding back his cringe, Ian replied, “Too bad for them I’m a one man man.

“Too bad,” Connie repeated, sauntering to the next machine.

He should’ve stayed home.

Chapter Twenty-Seven: Prove It

Mickey wasn’t being dramatic when he’d told Ian that he wanted him to stay home. As much as he  
tried not to be needy, sometimes he couldn’t help it. As far as he could tell, there was no rhyme or  
reason behind his swings toward co-dependency, but he was sure therapists would have their  
theories. Maybe it had something to do with his abandonment issues or the time he spent alone in  
prison. Either way, he hated the feeling of wanting. He had so much. He wasn’t devoid of all that  
he’d craved in the past.

Rolling to his side, Mickey picked his phone up of his nightstand. It had been an hour since Ian left  
and Mickey hadn’t done shit but lay in bed and wish his husband had stuck around. Deciding that  
there was no avoiding his descent into bitchassness, he texted Ian.

Mickey (8:23am): Send me a pic of ur cock

He slid his hands down the front of his boxers as he awaited Ian’s reply. He loved so much about  
Ian for so long, but there was no denying that his dick was a big part of the appeal when they first  
started banging. Well, at least a part of it. There was also his freckles, his sense of humor, his puppy  
dog eyes. It was a package, but he’s never overlooked that package. Mickey tugged on himself,  
thinking of how he wished Ian would have fucked him that morning. He would’ve wanted it harder  
than Ian typically gave it in the morning. Their go-to for sleepy sex was spooning, but the void  
Mickey felt demanded something more intense. He wanted his man to get on top of him, throw his  
legs over his shoulders and plow away at his hole.

Ian (8:27am): Lol baby  
Mickey (8:27am): Only one of us is laughing and it isn’t me.  
Mickey (8:27am): I know you don’t got a client or you wouldn’t have answered so fast. Go into the  
locker room and show me that dick.  
Ian (8:28am): Give me a few minutes.

Mickey sighed and kicked the blankets of of him. He considered sending Ian a picture of how  
worked up he was, but decided to be selfish and worry about his own needs. He wanted his husband  
to give it to him. He grinned when the picture came through. Goddamn, he was lucky. Every inch of  
Ian’s nine was straining beneath pale skin. Mickey wondered what got the redhead so turned on that  
he was dripping.

Mickey (8:42am): What are u thinking about?  
Ian (8:42am): Ur hole.  
Mickey (8:42am): What about it?  
Ian (8:43am): How it’s so fucking tight.  
Mickey (8:43am): u love to stretch it out  
Ian (8:44am): Course I do. Love to press my tongue against that little pink pussy.

Mickey groaned and tugged his dick with more fervor. It was rare for Ian to use the term, which was  
fine with Mickey. He didn’t want any part of him to be referred to in such a feminine sense. But there  
were times when it was exactly what he craved. He wanted Ian to see his ass as something that  
needed to be bred. He wanted to be turned out and slut shamed the way a woman would be if she  
did the same things. He wanted everything misogynistic and nothing that had more substance than  
that. He wanted Ian to use him, fill him full, and let it rest on the brim as his happy hole pulsed with  
pleasure.

Mickey (8:44am): Cum home now. My hands getting tired.  
Ian (8:45am): Believe me I wish I could. Love it when ur horny like this.  
Mickey (8:45am): U know I always want it. U ruined me  
Ian (8:46am): Want to ruin U right now  
Mickey (8:46am): Come do it then  
Mickey (8:46am): I’m so hard  
Ian (8:46am): Show me baby

Toggling to his camera, Mickey snapped a photo. He didn’t spend a lot of time admiring his own  
cock, too consumed with Ian’s to think of his as anything more than functional. It got hard, he jerked  
it, and he came. But, he had to admit that he had a nice, thick, dick, especially when it was hard.  
Taking a moment to really appreciate how good it looked in the picture and then in person, Mickey  
knocked the back of his hand against the shaft and hummed appreciatively when it shot back up  
eagerly. For a split second, he considered taking a Boomerang of the bounce back, but decided he  
would have to punch himself in the face Fight Club style if he started doing dumbshit like that.

Ian (8:51am): Damn Mick  
Mickey (8:51am): Come take care of it  
Ian (8:52am): Ur a needy one today aren’t u  
Mickey (8:52am): Yup

He didn’t allow himself to travel over the line from clingy to needy often, figuring it wasn’t good for  
either of them, but there were times when he struggled to rein it in. Because he didn’t want to. He  
spent so much time taking care of other people, sometimes he let himself be selfish and take what he  
wanted—what he needed.

Ian (8:53am): I don’t have a client til 1. I’ll take an early lunch and be there by 10:30.  
Ian (8:53am): U think u can hold out?  
Mickey (8:54am): Nope. Definitely gonna cum before then.  
Ian (8:54am): Then ur gonna cum again for me.  
Mickey (8:55am): Maybe  
Ian (8:56am): Ill be there by 10. Stop touching urself  
Ian (8:56am): I want it all  
Mickey (8:57am): I want u here now. Can’t always get what we want...  
Ian (8:57am): I’m gonna choke that fresh mouth with my dick  
Mickey (8:58am): Can’t do that if ur not here.  
Ian (8:58am): Be there by 9:30 slut

Mickey tossed his phone on the bed next to him. He knew he shouldn’t have applied so much  
pressure, that Ian’s job was important, and all that shit, but something deep within him needed to  
know that Ian would come through and put him first. Maybe it was the stuf from their past that  
made Mickey need the reassurance, maybe it was more than that. Either way, Mickey would make it  
quick and ensure that his husband was promptly returned to work when they were done.  
He smiled as he thought about Ian getting on the L to see him just because he wanted him to. He  
loved him. It was something Mickey knew but relished in every time Ian proved it. He wondered if he  
would need that reassurance forever, if there would always be a sliver of doubt hanging out in the  
back of his heart. He could have blamed the insecurity on Ian’s past behavior or the fact that Terry  
was a piece of shit, but it was probably deeper than that.

Deciding that he wanted to play with husband more, he rolled over for his phone.

Mickey (9:06am): Where u at?  
Ian (9:06am): walking to the L  
Mickey (9:07am): What’s taking u so long?  
Ian (9:07am): Hahaha I had to tell them i was stepping out  
Mickey (9:07am): Such a wordy motherfucker  
Ian (9:07am): Should I have just thrown up some peace signs?  
Mickey (9:08am): would’ve wasted less time  
Ian (9:08am): Now I think ur fucking with me  
Mickey (9:08am): I’m tryna to be. Slow ass  
Ian (9:09am): I’m gonna make u take that back when I jackhammer u.  
Mickey (9:09am): Don’t threaten me with a good time Milkovich  
Ian (9:10am): I love that  
Mickey (9:10am): What? Threatening me?  
Ian (9:10am): Milkovich. Still love when people say it. When u say it.  
Mickey (9:11am): Good cause ur stuck with it.  
Ian (9:11am): Gallagher who?  
Mickey (9:11am): Never heard of the kid.  
Mickey (9:11am): Where r u?  
Ian (9:11am): U asked me that 5 mins ago. So I’m about 5 mins closer than I was before.  
Mickey (9:12am): U getting salty?  
Ian (9:12am): Not at all  
Ian (9:12am): Just excited to see u  
Mickey (9:12am): What u wanna do first?  
Ian (9:12am): Kiss u  
Mickey (9:12am): Where?  
Ian (9:13am): Ur mouth  
Mickey (9:13am): Oh  
Ian (9:13am): Oh?!  
Mickey (9:13am): Where u?  
Ian (9:13am): what do you mean oh?  
Mickey (9:13am): Don’t mean anything  
Ian (9:14am): U don’t wanna kiss?  
Mickey (9:14am): Course I want to  
Ian (9:14am): U said oh  
Mickey (9:14am): And?!  
Ian (9:14am): And it makes me feel like u don’t want a kiss...  
Mickey (9:15am): I want a kiss. I want ur tongue down my fucking throat man. Get here.  
Ian (9:15am): Now I’m not gonna kiss u. Gonna fuck u like we used to when u were a dick.  
Mickey (9:15am): HAHAHA  
Ian (9:16am): I’m not laughing  
Mickey (9:16am): that’s cuz Ur a bitch  
Ian (9:16am): I’m going to jump on a north bound  
Mickey (9:16am): do it. Dare u.

The fleeting fear that Ian might actually do what he challenged him to crossed Mickey’s mind, but a  
glance at his husband’s location confirmed that he was headed home. And Mickey was ready for the  
pounding he knew was coming along with him.

Chapter Twenty-Eight: Before Nooner

Ian couldn’t wait to get home to get his hands on his husband. Mickey was being an annoying little  
shit, but Ian fucking loved it. Too often Mickey kept a stiff upper lip, battling the demons of his past  
that told him to bury his wants and needs, to be tough, not to let his emotions show. The glimpses of  
vulnerability that Ian saw every so often were his reassurance that he was needed. Most of the time,  
Ian worried that Mickey’s life would be easier without him in it. He didn’t want to be the burden that  
weighed his lover down. But in Mickey’s clingy moments, Ian had value in their relationship. He  
could fulfill Mickey’s needs—for comfort, sex, compassion, whatever it was at the time—and that  
was the ultimate fulfillment for Ian. He wanted to be everything for his husband the way that Mickey  
was everything for him, to be the person that Mickey deserved and someone who deserved a person  
like Mickey.

As soon as he was through the door, he took the stairs by twos and rushed into his bedroom,  
breathless.

“Took you long enough,” Mickey remarked. He had his hands resting behind his head as he lay  
naked in the bed, biceps bulging, hard cock standing proudly, and a smirk on his face.

“Goddamn, Mick,” Ian crooned, kicking off his shoes as quickly as he could. He stumbled over his  
own feet and struggled to get his pants off before jumping on top of his husband. “So hot.”  
Mickey waved Ian’s face down for a kiss, but Ian held off. Instead he rubbed his hands up and down  
Mickey’s torso and rutted his hard-on into Mickey’s thigh.

“Ah, you’re not gonna give me a kiss,” Mickey mused, grasping the cradle of Ian’s skull and  
pushing his face toward him with more force.

Rolling his lips in tight, Ian shook his head and stifled a chuckle when Mickey did a sit-up to try to  
make their mouths meet.

“It’s gonna be like this, huh?” Mickey grunted, looping his arms around Ian’s waist to flip them over.  
Ian squirmed and laughed as his husband attempted to pin his shoulders to the mattress to get his kiss.

“You said ‘oh,’” Ian reminded, howling when Mickey started to tickle his most sensitive spots.

“Stop, stop.”

“This is what ya get when you play hard to get,” Mickey said through his smile.

“Leaving work to come home to feed you the dick is definitely not playing hard to get.”

Mickey shrugged. “You always were a slut, so...”

“Is that right?” Ian asked, deciding to fight for dominance.

The rolled around the bed wrapped in each other and a peels of laugher. Wrestling gave way to a  
passionate embrace with Ian giving the kiss he swore he was going to withhold. As he their tongues  
tangled, Ian moved his wandering hands to Mickey’s cheeks, deepening the kiss until goosebumps  
covered his arms.

Fuck, he loved kissing Mickey. He’d made it a point early on in their relationship to never take one  
kiss for granted. They’d fought for that intimacy time and time again. So, even—and especially—in  
the comfort of their own bedroom, Ian relished in the softness of his pillow pout, the sweet heat of  
his breath, the familiarity of the figure eights that Mickey drew with his tongue.

“Do y’know how lucky we are?” Ian asked, pulling back only far enough to let his words escape.

“Yeah.” Mickey pushed a loose lock of hair off of Ian’s forehead. “But tell me why...”

“Some people go their whole lives without being kisses like this.”

“You think?”

“I do.”

“It was never like this with anyone else?” Mickey asked tentatively. “Any of the other guys you  
were with?”

“Never,” Ian promised. It was the truth. He’d had good kisses with other people but nothing ever  
compared to the fire he felt when he locked lips with Mickey. “How about you?”

Ian regretted the question as soon as it left his mouth. He’d seen the chemistry Mickey had shared  
with Jake. It was a series of images that were burned into his mind, never fading away with time like  
he’d hoped they would.

“He was never you,” Mickey stated, easily reading Ian’s mind.

“That doesn’t really answer the question,” Ian pointed out.

“Sure it does,” Mickey disagreed, pulling Ian back into a kiss.

“You ever make him leave work to fuck you? You ever need him that bad?”

“No.”

Pushing his middle finger into Mickey, Ian asked, “Ever ache for him like you ache for me?

“No,” Mickey groaned, nipping at Ian’s lower lip until he caught it between his teeth.

Ian stared into Mickey’s eyes as he continued to work him open. “Could he keep your hole as happy  
as me?”

“Never.”

Realistically, Ian knew that it was unnecessary for him to compare what he and Mickey had with  
what his husband had with Jake, but that was easier said than done. It was painful to think that  
Mickey could have ever loved someone else, that he could still have a soft spot for the cop in his  
heart. If Ian hadn’t had abandoned Mickey when he went to prison, Jake would have never been in  
the picture and neither would Theo. Life would have been tough, but years later they wouldn’t be  
carrying as much baggage as they were, and there wouldn’t have been an election season to worry  
about.

“Good.” Ian wanted to believe him.

Reaching down to line up with Mickey’s entry, Ian slowly slid his dick into his man, gasping at the  
tightness that never ceased to clamp in on him in the most delicious way. He loved everything about  
fucking Mickey but nothing could compare to bottoming out for the first time in a session.

“Fuck,” he hummed, holding still to enjoy the sensation as Mickey coiled his legs around Ian’s trunk  
tighter.

“Move, man,” Mickey whispered, lifting his hips to prompt Ian to fuck him faster.

Ian didn’t listen. Instead he dipped his head down to enjoy the visual. It was amazing how Mickey’s  
small space made room for his rod. He loved the way his dick stretched Mickey muscle, the sensitive  
pink skin that had him sheathed.

“You gotta see this,” Ian crooned, shaking his head at how hot it was. “Toss me your phone.”

“You serious?” Mickey tsked, narrowing his eyes at Ian.

Ian didn’t flinch and Mickey did his best not to break their connection as he reached for his phone.

He tossed it to Ian and grunted when it fell on his lower stomach.

“It’s worth it. Promise,” Ian said, picking up the phone and turning on the forward facing camera. He  
held the phone up at the perfect angle to give his husband a view of where they met. “Look at that,  
baby.” He rolled his hips slowly, alternating between looking at the real thing, the phone screen, and  
Mickey’s face.

“Shit,” Mickey moaned, biting his lower lip as he focused on the show. “That’s hot.”

“Right,” Ian grinned. “Get to see it every time. Figured you would want to.”

“Record it,” he prompted, taking Ian by surprise. As freaky as Mickey could be, he wasn’t typically  
into recording. That wasn’t to say that they hadn’t made a video or ten, but it was more rare than the  
other shit they got into.

Ian did as he was told, trying to keep as his hand still. .

“Don’t need to see it. Just fuck me,” Mickey pleaded, obviously frustrated by Ian’s slow pace.

Deciding it was easier to toggle to the regular camera, Ian took care of business, making sure to work  
his husband to an orgasm while giving him a good show to watch later that afternoon. Since Ian had  
been close to cumming as soon as he saw Mickey laying naked on the bed waiting for him, it didn’t  
take long for Ian to cream pie his man’s hole. He kept pumping his dick in as Mickey panted toward  
his finish. Making sure to get a close up of his slick cum covered shaft, Ian moved out painfully slow  
before ramming back in. The plunge was what Mickey needed to shoot all over his own stomach.  
Conscious of the camera angle, Ian leaned down to lap up Mickey’s load, slow and sensual.

“Fuck,” Mickey grinned, tangling his tattooed fingers in Ian’s hair. “I’m gonna watch that on a  
fucking loop.”

“Good,” Ian said, going in for a snowy kiss. He exaggerated the tongue in the connection for  
Mickey’s benefit before shutting off the phone and giving another kiss his full attention.

“I love you,” Mickey whispered, gazing up at Ian as if he’d hung the moon and stars. Whenever Ian  
wondered if Mickey was happy being with him, he tried to recall that exact look in his husband’s  
eyes. He loved when Mickey looked at him like that, like he was the guy he’d seen years before and  
wanted to see for years to come.

“I love you more,” Ian promised, resting his palm on Mickey’s cheek.

“Not possible.”

“I swear it is. Nobody could love anyone the way that I love you. You’re everything to me, more  
than everything...”

“Thanks for coming home,” Mickey said, licking his lips, an indication that he wanted another kiss.

Ian happily obliged and then laid his full wait on his husband’s body, hugging his body as if he any  
air between them was an enemy. They laid like that for as long as they could until they were both  
short of breath.

“What time are you gonna be home?” Mickey asked as Ian stood up to get dressed.

Smiling, Ian said, “I’m scheduled til seven. You should come in and work out. I don’t have anyone  
between four and six.”

“You just gave me a workout.”

“I did all of the work,” Ian laughed.

“I’ll ride you tonight and we’ll call it even,” Mickey suggested, lifting an eyebrow playfully.

“Sounds good, but I still want you to come in. I like to show you off.”

Clicking his tongue, Mickey wondered, “You’re not even gonna try to play it off as something else?”

“Nope,” Ian replied, leaning in to give Mickey goodbye peck. “Look at you.”

“I’ll be there,” Mickey stated.

Ian practically skipped out of the room, giving Grumpy a head nuzzie on the way out. He loved  
when Mickey came into CUT. And so did all the girls—and some of the guys—he worked with.

Chapter Twenty-Nine: CUT it up

Working out with Ian wasn’t Mickey’s favorite thing to do. Not because he didn’t like getting  
trained, but because he was a spectacle every time he walked into CUT. As much as he’d grown  
used to public displays of affection, he had never been comfortable with straight up gawking and  
that’s what Ian’s coworkers did when Mickey showed up. They were all oddly obsessed with their  
relationship. He wasn’t sure if most of them hadn't been around gay dudes before or if they thought  
they’d lived some sort of twisted fairytale. Either way, it was fucking weird.

“Hey!” Sage exclaimed as soon as Mickey walked through the doors. “Oh my goodness, you’re  
literally the sweetest husband.”

“Why?” Mickey asked, wondering what the hell he did to earn the title.

“Ian gets so excited when you come in and here you are,” Sage explained, shaking her head like she  
was overwhelmed by his presence. “Anything to make him happy, right?”

“I guess,” Mickey said slowly, narrowing his eyes at the perky girl. He’d been around Sage several  
times and he still couldn’t understand how someone was so on all of the time. It had to be an act. She  
was probably covering up some emotional wounds, overcompensating for an inner sadness.

“You’re coming to Sam and Tim’s wedding this weekend, aren’t you?”

Mickey nodded. There was no way that Sage didn’t already know that he’d be there. She was  
making small talk and he didn’t want to. He wanted to see Ian. “D’you know where Ian is?”

“He should be milling around the weight area,” Sage answered, appearing to be disappointed by  
Mickey’s desire to rush of .

“K, thanks,” Mickey muttered, not bothering to give the girl a proper goodbye. He didn’t know what  
Ian saw in her. Maybe her red hair made her seem like a Gallagher to him—something that  
realistically should have turned his husband of . Though he’d made peace with most of Ian’s  
siblings, he didn’t find the clan as a whole—aside from Carl—to be worthy of any sort of affection.

Mickey grinned when he saw how wide Ian’s smile grew as soon as he laid eyes on him.

“You came,” Ian announced, happily. He gave Mickey a tight hug, nearly lifting him of his feet as  
swayed.

“You told me to. Don’t be a pussy,” Mickey huf ed, creating some distance between him and his  
husband. “Sage was already moony when I walked in.”

“She knows I’ve been missing you...”

Mickey crinkled his nose and reminded Ian. “It’s been a few of hours.” As much as he wanted to  
play it of , the intensity was appreciated. He loved when Ian made a big deal about wanting to be  
around him, though he felt compelled to act like he didn’t. Despite his ef orts, he knew his husband  
saw right through him.

“A few too many,” Ian corrected, giving Mickey another hug. “Let’s get you on a machine.”

Mickey obliged, sitting down to let Ian walk him through shit he already knew how to do. He loved  
how the redhead put his hands all over him when it was absolutely unnecessary and how proud Ian  
was of the knowledge he had to impart. It was impossible not to be proud of all Ian had achieved.  
While he may not have been in the army, or an EMT, he’d made something of himself, just the way  
he always wanted to. There was never a more driven kid on the South Side and it had confused  
Mickey at the time but he understood it with time—understood him and why any of that shit  
mattered.

“Such good form,” Ian complimented, rubbing Mickey’s traps after a set.

“You never give me that kind of rubdown,” a woman remarked, moving closer to them. She was a  
couple of years older but pretty in objectively attractive way.

Ian laughed the laugh that he used to have in the strip club when guys were getting too handsy, an  
act that had Mickey’s hackles immediately raised.

“Connie, this is my husband Mickey, Mick this is one of my clients Connie Cotania.”  
Ah, the news chick.

“It’s so nice to finally meet you, Mickey. I heard so much about you from your very smitten  
husband,” Connie said, extending her hand for a shake.

Reluctantly, Mickey partook in the pleasantry, hoping that she would shuf le of and leave them  
alone.

He had no such luck.

“Ian’s shown me pictures of you, but dare I say you’re so much more handsome in person.”

“You just did, so you’re doin’ it,” Mickey said, licking his lips uncomfortably.

“Your eyes are incredible,” she continued.

“He’s shy,” Ian interjected quickly, “Too much flattery’s gonna have him blushing.”

Mickey was pretty sure his cheeks weren’t as red as Ian’s. It was obvious that he wanted the  
conversation to end as much as he did, a fact that made Mickey want him to sweat it out.

“No, no, it’s cool,” Mickey said, giving Ian a proper “fuck you” smirk. “It’s a nice compliment.”

Connie smiled proudly as Ian glared at Mickey.

“So...Mickey. That’s an interesting name. Is it short for anything?” Connie asked, wiping some  
imaginary lint of of her Lulu Lemon leggings.

“Mikhailo.”

“Is that Russian or Ukrainian...?”

“Who the fuck knows?” Mickey shrugged, knowing damn well. “One of those communist  
countries.”

Ian’s eyes went wide and Mickey loved to see that he wasn’t the only one in the gym breaking a  
sweat.

“Connie’s a reporter,” Ian informed Mickey, “She does those dirty dining reports we like.”

“Ah, I thought you looked familiar,” Mickey nodded. “Are there lotsa people shitting themselves all  
over Chicago or are people cleaning their shit up?”

Connie stared at Mickey as if he had three heads. “Uh, there’s been a couple of food contamination  
issues,” she replied, “but I don’t know if there’s been anything that extreme this week.”

“You probably should,” Mickey began, shrugging at Connie’s confusion, “know if there’s been  
something extreme.”

“I mean, I would,” she said, glancing at Ian as if he was going to save her from the odd  
interrogation. Mickey knew his husband was way too smart for that.

“So, is dirty dining all you do or are you into any other kind of reporting?” Mickey pressed. It was  
too much of a coincidence that a Chicago area newscaster had ended up being trained by Ian, a guy  
who was of great interest to the press.

“I do some investigative journalism,” Connie replied. “I certainly didn’t go to school for dining  
reports.”

“Certainly not,” Mickey replied, not bothering to hide the mocking in his tone.

“Well, Mick and I are just about to work on some legs,” Ian said in a clear effort to separate them.

He gave Connie a friendly grin. “Your least favorite exercises.”

“That’s the truth,” she agreed, her eyes still locked on Mickey’s.

It felt like a challenge and there was no way he was going to pretend that he was intimidated by her  
stare down in an effort to play nice for Ian’s job. His husband was a dynamo.   
He didn’t need the cosign from some dime-a-dozen talking head. Mickey kept his eyes trained on her for a moment before  
heading to the leg press. Though Ian gave her a nice, long goodbye, Mickey was done with the  
pleasantries.

“Don’t trust her,” Mickey grumbled when Ian joined him moments later.

“You made that pretty obvious,” Ian remarked, moving the pin in the weights before Mickey began  
his first rep.

“Did it bother you?” Mickey asked once he was done the set. He wiped the sweat of his brow with  
the towel around his neck and concentrated on Ian’s facial features to see if they told him something  
the redhead’s mouth wouldn’t.

“What?” Ian asked with honest confusion.

“That I didn’t like her.”

“Nope. You don’t like anyone.”

“That’s not true,” Mickey said, grinning at Ian. “I like you.”

“But do you like, like me?” Ian flirted, the freckles around his eyes more apparent when he lifted his  
brows.

“You’re growing on me.”

“I’ll take it,” Ian said with an eagerness that wasn’t inauthentic at all. “What was it about her?”

“She asks a lotta questions.”

“You asked her more than she asked you.”

Mickey grunted as he let the stack of weights fall.

“Let ‘em down slow,” Ian chided. “You gotta give me another set now.”

“Go fuck yourself,” Mickey tsked, standing up to head to the next machine. He knew the circuit.

“I could’ve told you the same thing earlier today,” Ian teased, with a little wink.

“You got something in your eye, Milkovich?” Mickey inquired, holding back the grin that was  
threatening his lips.

“Go back to the leg press,” Ian directed meekly, garnering a glare from Mickey as he positioned  
himself on the ab cruncher, “or go straight to abs...either way.”

Mickey clicked his tongue. “I think I’ll go right to abs.”

There was only one guy who could tell him what to do...and even that wasn’t all of the time.

“You gonna hang out until I finish my shift?” Ian asked. “Get some cardio in?”

“I’m thinkin’ about it,” Mickey replied, gesturing toward the front desk where Sage was watching  
them with a lovesick expression on her face. “But you gotta get Gallagher-lite under control.”

“I’ll talk to her,” Ian said, giving Mickey a peck before he made his way toward Sage.  
Mickey rolled his eyes, as he breathed through his next crunch.

Fucking redheads.

Chapter Thirty: Interruptions

Ian was getting really sick of the daily slew of calls he received from the press. As soon as he  
blocked numbers, ten more would pop up. He had no idea how they got their grubby hands on his  
information, but they must have had their ways. When he made the mistake and actually answered,  
he regretted it immediately. They were never satisfied with his canned response: “I’ve moved on  
with my life and clearly Theo’s doing the same. I wish him well.” It was the truth, but they wanted  
more than that. After weeks of fielding he calls, Ian was tempted to handle reporters like Mickey did,  
but he decided against it, figuring that answering the phone with a resounding, “Fuck off,  
cocksucker,” would be counter-productive to his desire to be thought of as at least partially stable.

“They don’t stop,” Ian grunted, glancing at his phone screen. He was on his every-other-day call  
with Mandy and irritated by the incessant beeping that sought to interrupt them.

“Reporters?”

“Yeah.”

“Maybe you should just speak with one of them. Give an exclusive or something. Would they leave  
you alone if they knew that they didn’t have the scoop?” Mandy questioned.

“Doubt it. They all want a piece.”

“Sounds like the Fairytail.”

“Tell me about it,” Ian grumbled.

“Are they still calling, Mick?”

“Not as much as me, but he gets, like, three or four calls a day.”

“Oh, he must be thrilled about that,” Mandy mused.

“Ugh, it kills me that he gets so annoyed. I brought all this shit to our door.”

“Please,” she scoffed. “You know damn well that none of this was ever your intention and that  
Mickey finds a way to be annoyed about anything.”

Ian laughed, because it was mostly true. His ornery attitude usually cracked Ian up. Save when

Mickey gave him hell for the way he flossed his teeth—that was aggravating. “He can get a little  
pissy.”

“The understatement of the year,” Mandy declared. “But I miss him. I’ll admit it.”

“Aw, look at this sibling love. Have you told him?”

“Fuck no. I’m gonna come visit soon though. I’m thinking Labor Day weekend. Do you think Mick  
will be busy with work?”

“Mickey’s always busy with work,” Ian said, hating that the statement was hyperbolic in the least.

Mickey worked at least sixty hours a week, sometimes more. Though his husband made the best of  
his one guaranteed day off by spending time as much time with Ian as possible, it was tough to have  
him gone so much.

“I sense some bitterness,” Mandy uttered.

“No, no, it’s not like that,” Ian assured, quickly. “I’m super grateful for everything he does for our  
family.”

“I just swooned a little bit at your use of family, not gonna lie.”

Grinning, Ian reiterated, “That’s what we are. I just miss him.”

“And how’s Yev? Do you guys chill while Mick’s at work?”

“Yeah, we’ve been playing a lot of video games. Same old shit. He’s the best kid ever.”

“He is,” Mandy agreed. “He makes me wanna move back.”

“Just him?” Ian laughed.

“Pretty much,” she teased. “My heart literally jumps out of my chest when he calls me.”

“Believe me, I get it.”

“I know you do. Has he brought up anything else about the drug stuff?”

“No,” Ian replied, closing his eyes and inhaling a deep, lung filling breath. He hated that his  
addiction had become even a blip on Yevgeny’s radar. “Has he mentioned it to you?”

“Not since the last time I told you,” Mandy replied. “You need to stop beating yourself up over any  
of it, Ian. Seriously, think about how much shit we dealt with by his age. He’s not touched be even a  
tenth of it.”

“I don’t want to be what he was touched by,” Ian sighed. “I want to be a good role model to him.”

“You are.”

“Mickey is.”

“You are too,” Mandy asserted. “Don’t forget that Mick spent eight years of Yev’s life in prison.”

“For defending me.”

“Does it matter? It is what it is. Svetlana fucks up, too. We just don’t hear about it. Nobody’s perfect,  
Ian. None of us had perfect parents and we turned out okay.”

“Now that’s the understatement of the year,” Ian pointed out.

“That we’re okay?”

“No that’s right on. That none of us had perfect parents.”

Giggling, Mandy said, “Okay, truth. You know what I mean.”

Ian looked at another incoming call interrupting his conversation and pressed the red button swiftly.

“I do. Fuck, they really don’t stop.”

“Our parents?”

“No, the reporters. I get that Theo being on the ticket is a big deal, but can’t they focus on his  
policies?”

“Nobody cares about that. They want the dirt.”

“He has a new boyfriend. Why don’t they focus on him?”

“My guess is that Satan and her partner investigated the new boyfriend and there’s nothing nearly  
as interesting about him,” Mandy reasoned.

Ian knew it was true. There was no way that Margaret and Sean let a guy slip by that wasn’t fully  
vetted. The stakes were higher than they ever were when Ian and Theo were together. Theo was on  
the national stage. A part of Ian wondered if Theo started dating Dalton to flip the narrative and get  
the public’s attention of of Ian. The thought that Theo could be in a relationship to take the heat of  
of he and Ian’s may have been a narcissistic one, but Ian knew the way Theo’s advisors functioned.  
Everything was calculated, orchestrated. It was high level gaslighting and Ian was glad that he  
wasn’t a part of it anymore, even if his name was still involved.

“Have you talked to him?” Mandy wondered.

“Who? Theo?”

“Yeah.”

“No. I got nothing to say, and I’m sure that he’s scared to reach out after his talk with Mick.”

Laughing, Mandy admitted, “I have literally nothing against Theo—I think he’s a good guy—but I  
would’ve paid to his reaction when Mickey walked into his office.”

“Oh, believe me, same.” Ian could clearly picture Theo’s face. His grey eyes would be the size of  
Canadian bacon as his jaw sat slack.

It was weird to think that he was ever with him, that he went home to him, had sex with him. It felt  
like Ian had spent time in an alternate universe, one where it made sense for him to be with someone  
other than Mickey. It was a place he never wanted to be again, that he never understood how he was  
ever in in the first place.

“I just want to be good enough for him,” Ian uttered.

“For who? Mickey?” Mandy asked, confused.

“Yeah. Who else would I be talking about?”

“We were on the topic of Theo...”

“Oh. Well, that’s not who I’m talking about.”

“It’s ridiculous that you’d say that about Mickey,” Mandy chided. Ian prepared himself to be  
annoyed by Mandy taking a dig at her brother, but the insult never came. “That joker loves you  
more than you could even begin to imagine.”

“More than I can begin to understand,” Ian corrected. Though Ian’s self esteem had taken a few  
hits, he wasn’t completely devoid of confidence about anything other than his worthiness in his  
marriage. It was difficult to be with someone who was so much better at being a husband than him.  
He knew that he would be better for both of them if he let the inferiority complex go, but it was a  
challenge considering their history. And maybe it was good for Ian to remember all of it and to  
struggle with his guilt over the way things had gone down. It kept him humble enough to realize  
what he had and not make excuses for what he’d done. Whenever someone described their  
relationship as “Ride or Die,” Ian struggled not to tell them that that designation belonged solely to  
his husband. He’d already proven that he wasn’t that guy.

That wasn’t to say that he didn’t have hope, though—that one day he could be the way he should  
have been before. He wondered if it was like a breakup. People said it took half the time a couple  
was together for them to deal with being apart. As they approached their four year anniversary, Ian  
wondered if in heir case he should double his penance to sixteen years rather than settling on four.  
Mandy groaned at his self-depreciation. “You’ve gotta stop being so hard on yourself.”

“You’ve gotta stop being so easy on me,” he retorted.

“I have to be some sort of counter influence. You’re brutal. Seriously, you’ve always done the best  
you could do.”

“I’m not sold on that,”

“Well then keep being better I guess.”

“Working on it.”

“I know you are,” Mandy acknowledged. “And as always I’m proud of you.”

“Love you,” Ian told her, snarling at another in coming call.

“Love you too. I’m going to work out some dates for my trip.”

“Can’t wait.”

It was great to have Mandy in town. Everything felt like it was right where it belonged when she was  
home—even when Ian struggled to understand his place.

He was of the phone for a moment before it started ringing again. Noticing that the incoming call  
was from a Chicago area code, Ian decided to answer it, instantly regretting it when he did.

“Ian?” A female voice began. “Is this Ian Milkovich?”

“Yeah. Who’s this?”

“Oh good! I knew I recognized your voice. It’s Connie.”

“Oh, hey, how’s it going?” Ian asked, softening his tone.

“It’s great. Listen, I know this is unorthodox, but I know you’re of today and I was wondering if  
you’d be willing to grab lunch with me. I have something I need to talk to you about.”

Ian gnawed on the inside of his cheek, racking his brain to figure out if he’d somehow given the  
blonde the wrong impression and made her somehow believe he wasn’t fully gay and super married.

“It’s nothing too crazy,” she promised.

“Uh, yeah. We can do that. As long as you don’t suggest we go to one of your dirty dining  
restaurants,” he said, attempting to bring some levity to the odd conversation.

Connie laughed. “Definitely not. I’ll text you the address to an amazing Thai place. Let’s say noon.”

“Alright,” Ian agreed, still confused by the situation.

He figured at the very least he’d spread some goodwill with a high profile customer and get a free  
lunch.

A win-win?

Chapter Thirty-One: Just Say No

“So, why the fuck are you meeting up with her?” Mickey asked, pacing the length of his office as he  
listened to Ian ramble about how having lunch with Connie would be fine.

“Because she asked,” Ian replied purposefully, as if Mickey was dumb for not getting it. But Mickey  
got it just fine. There was one idiot in the situation, and it definitely wasn’t him.

“If she asked you to fuck her would you do that, too?”

“What?! That’s not even, that doesn’t even make sense.”

“Oh yeah? You’re going to lunch with her cause she asked, what if she asks you to slip her the  
dick?” Mickey wondered. “What would you do then?”

“I’m not fucking Connie,” Ian cried.

“But what if she asks?” Mickey continued, intent on making his point.

“She’s not going to.”

“I don’t know why you’re giving this bitch the time of day. She either wants your cock or your story.  
And she don’t got a right to either.”

“She knows I’m gay,” Ian reasoned, “and married. I don’t think it’s about that.”

“Then it Ms. Dirty Dining is trying to get the dirt on you,” Mickey decided.  
He loved Ian. He respected Ian. But he also thought Ian was a fucking moron sometimes. There was  
no reason for his husband to see the good in people the way that he did. From a deadbeat father to  
pedophiles and pervy employers, assholes in Ian’s life were constantly proving that they weren’t shit.  
It was bizarre that Ian was still naive about people’s intensions year’s later. Mickey knew that  
sometimes he was guilty of being too skeptical, but fuck if he wasn’t usually right. There had been a  
few instances when he was proven wrong, and he was glad for them. While Ian went into situations  
thinking the best, Mickey approached everything considering the worst. They both could have  
probably stood to learn from one another, but they fought instead and then delivered I-told-you-so’s  
when one of them was inevitably right. Luckily—and unluckily—it was usually Mickey who called  
it correctly.

“Oh c’mon, Mick. It’s not like that.”

“Says who? You? You’re never right about this shit. You know that, right?”

“I’m right more than I’m wrong,” Ian protested.

“That’s...wrong.”

“What’s the big deal anyway? So what if she starts to ask things? I’ll just tell her I have the shits and  
fuck off.”

“Yeah, and then you’ll be down about it,” Mickey sighed. “Cause another bitch is trying to use you,  
get theirs however necessary.”

“I’m a big boy, Mick. I can handle it if she’s a cunt. It’s not like she’s anything but a paycheck to  
me...”

Mickey clicked his tongue. There was no way any of this was ending well. “It ain’t gonna feel good  
when you realize that she sees you as the same.”

“What does she matter?”

“You tell me? I’m not going to lunch to her.” He paused, thinking maybe that he should be. Walking  
back to his computer, Mickey double checked his schedule. It was a futile act consisting how packed  
it was. Part of him—a really big part of him—wanted to leave work so he could be there for Ian’s  
impromptu lunch. The last meeting that he’d missed had sent his husband down a spiral that ended in  
a bag of cocaine. He didn’t want to regret not taking this one seriously enough to prioritize it above a  
Founders brunch. He didn’t even know what the fuck a Founders brunch was. “I should come.”

“That would be combative,” Ian stated. “It’s lunch.”

“I’m combative?” Mickey grunted.

“You were on her like a shit stain at the gym.”

“She is a shit stain.”

“Combative,” Ian pointed out.

“Whatever.” Mickey considered whether he should bring up his concerns or if they would just put  
more unnecessary stress on Ian. Deciding that he needed to be honest, he stated, “I’m worried that  
it’s gonna go shitty and it’s gonna trigger you to do something stupid.”

“Like coke?”

“Yeah.”

“Believe me, that’s not going to happen,” Ian promised. “I’m not emotionally invested with Connie.”

“But you were with Theo?” Mickey asked, rolling his lips in tight. He knew it was unfair question—  
a gimme answer that he didn’t want to hear. There was history there. Guilt. Fear. Maybe some love.

“It’s not like that.” His voice softened. “You know it’s not like that. Things just felt higher stakes  
with him.”

“I know. I shouldn’t have...” Mickey began, shaking his head. Everything about Theo, the election,  
and the portions of Ian’s past that Mickey wasn’t a part of were landmines and despite his careful  
treading, Mickey was he sure he stumbled on every single one.

“You’re fine,” Ian said quickly. “I can’t even hear your exes name without feeling like I could kill  
him with my bare hands.”

Mickey’s eyes grew wide at the admission. He knew that Ian was perpetually jealous of Jake, but  
he’d never known it was to a homicidal level. “He was never bad to me.”

“Yeah, that makes it even worse.” Ian sighed. “Fuck, that came out wrong. I wouldn’t want anyone  
to be bad to you...I just don’t want you to, I don’t know, have nostalgic thoughts about him.”

“The only time I think about him is when you bring him up,” Mickey said truthfully. When he  
considered how much he loved Ian, Mickey wasn’t sure he’d ever actually loved his ex, but he did  
love the way Jake made him feel. There was no denying that. Ian had done a good job making up for  
the mistakes of his youth, but it didn’t eradicate the little doubts that lingered in the back of Mickey’s  
mind. In a perfect world he would forget about all of the pain. But the world wasn’t perfect and  
neither were him or Ian. It wasn’t that Ian didn’t make him feel loved, he did, more than anyone ever  
had before. It was more that sometimes he remembered the years when he didn’t and it was hard to  
have full confidence that they’d never stumble upon a time like that again.

“I always wanted to be the only one for you,” Ian said, as if he could read Mickey’s mind, “because  
you were always the only one for me. My first love—only real love. The only thing real at all.”

Closing his eyes, Mickey let the words punch right through his chest. They were what he always  
needed to hear and could never hear enough. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

“Don’t want you to go.”

“So then I won’t,” Ian stated. “If it means that much to you I’ll tell her that something came up and I  
can’t make it.”

“Do that.”

Mickey wished he could’ve trusted that things would be fine, but he wasn’t there yet. Everything still  
felt touch and go and the last thing he wanted was some rogue variable to knock Ian out of balance.

“Are you serious?” Ian inquired incredulously. It was out of the ordinary for Mickey assert any sort  
of rank when it came to the decisions Ian made, but the more Mickey knocked around the  
circumstances in his head, the less he wanted Ian to go.

“Really fucking serious,” Mickey confirmed. “If you’re bored at home you can come to my event  
and bust the waiters balls with me.”

Ian laughed. “Wow, that’s an attractive offer.”

“Only the best for you.”

“As fun as that sounds, I think I’ll just hang out here and play Red Dead.”

“Your loss.”

“Have you ever thought about positive reinforcement with the staff? Instead of riding their asses?  
They’re all terrified of you.”

“As they should be, you fag. A little fear never hurt anyone,” Mickey chided. “And don’t tell me  
how to do my job. I don’t tell you how to do your trainer shit.”

“Yes you do. Literally every single time I try to work you out,” Ian reminded. “You’re the worst.”

Mickey smirked. “But you always want me come in.”

“Love looking at you. Wish I was looking at you right now.”

“You got videos to watch.”

“Oh believe me, I have been. But I wanna see your face. You have the most beautiful face I’ve ever  
seen.”

“Ah fuck off,” Mickey tsked, as a hot blush crept over that “beautiful” face.

“I’m serious.”

“You’re crazy...”

“...about you.”

“Then the feeling’s mutual. Listen—“ Mickey began, clearing his throat, “You’re not gonna meet up  
with her, right?”

“Nah, I’ll tell her I can’t make it.”

“Good.” He was relieved that for once, Ian actually listened to him. “I’ll be home around seven.”

“I’ll be waiting for you.”

Mickey couldn’t help but smile. It was nice to come home to someone he actually wanted to see. He  
wondered if the novelty of walking through the door of their house to find Ian sitting on the couch  
with a ring on his finger would ever wear off. As far as Mickey was concerned, it was the best sight  
in the world—his husband, their house, and forever.

“Better be.”

“I’ll always be,” Ian promised. His voice was rife with devotion and Mickey was convinced that it  
was the truth. With every affirmation a bit more doubt died.

And Mickey was happy to acknowledge the loss.

Chapter Thirty-Two: Told You So

There was no way that Ian was going to meet Connie for lunch when Mickey was so against it. For a  
moment, he considered getting together with his client and not mentioning it to his husband but  
Connie wasn’t worth setting an awful precedent for—nobody was. There had been enough trust  
broken between he and Mickey to start chiseling away at everything else they’d built. Ian really  
didn’t think things with Connie would be a big deal, but his husband clearly disagreed and on the  
chance that Mickey was right about her, Ian knew he’d need those broad shoulders to lean on. It  
wasn’t like he had a serious affinity for the newscaster, but that didn’t mitigate the fact that it would  
be shitty if she was playing at being a friend in order to further her career. Unfortunately, Mickey  
was good at reading people and ascertaining what their intentions were. No matter how much Ian  
wanted to deny it, he knew it was a skill he lacked.

He considered texting Connie to blow off the plans, but decided that it would be more polite to pick  
up the phone.

“Hey Ian!” she greeted excitedly, as soon as she answered the call. “I’m on my way.”

“Hey Connie. Yeah, uh, about that. I have to go and grab my stepson from school.”

It was the first excuse that came to mind and he figured it was damn good one. Nobody could argue  
with a guy doing his (step)fatherly duties.

“Oh no, is he okay?” Connie asked, her voice rife with worry.

Mickey was wrong about her. She’d been through a lot with her broken engagement and she wanted  
to make new friends, start fresh. While Ian wasn’t sure they were going to be close, he didn’t mind  
spending time with her.

“Yeah. He has a headache,” Ian explained. “He gets them sometimes if he doesn’t eat enough  
protein for breakfast. I think it’s a hyperglycemic thing.” He was rambling. He knew the less that he  
said the more believable it would be, but his mouth wasn’t willing to listen to his brain.

“Oh, well, that’s a shame. For him and for us,” she tsked. “Are you on your way to the school now?  
Can we speak on the phone for a few minutes while you head over there?”

“Yeah, that’s fine,” Ian said easily, surprised that she the conversation that she wanted to have was  
so emergent and specific. Maybe he was off-base about her interest in a friendship. He considered  
going outside so it would sound like he was actually walking to the school, but decided against it.  
His bed was comfortable and he didn’t really care what she though—at least not when things seemed  
to be taking an odd turn.

“I don’t think there’s an easy way to broach the subject, so I’m just going to go for it...” she informed  
him.

The declaration sent his heart to his asshole. Ian was always grateful for Mickey, but he was  
especially thankful for his husband in that moment. Mickey’s skepticism had kept Ian from going to  
lunch with Connie and facing whatever it was that was about to come out of her mouth in person.  
She paused as if she was waiting for Ian to invite her to continue but that wasn’t something he was  
going to do. If she was going to make shit weird, he was going to let her cross that line all on her  
own. It was typical for him to want to fill the space, eradicate awkward lulls in conversation. As a  
trainer, he had to be social with his client and put them at ease so they could meet their goals in a  
comfortable and supportive environment.

“I haven’t been entirely honest with you,” Connie admitted. “I knew who you were before I started  
to train with you. That whole story about breaking things off with my fiancé, I made it up in hopes  
that you would relate your own story to mine.”

And just like that Ian was sure that he was on the phone with the goddamn devil. He had no idea  
how a fucked up confession like that was supposed to soften him to whatever was coming.  
There was a time early in his life when people didn’t fuck with him, when his last name was a  
warning for others that if they stepped out of line, they’d be visited by a crew with a bat. It was wild  
to him that his new last name didn’t strike the appropriate level of fear in a North side bitch like  
Connie. Clearly she didn’t know that people didn’t fuck with Milkoviches—especially Milkoviches  
that we’re married to Mickey.

“You’re quiet,” she noted, as if his silence wasn’t warranted. “I understand if you’re annoyed with  
me.”

Annoyed wasn’t the word Ian would use. Disgusted, yeah. Disappointed, absolutely. Annoyed was  
too easy of an out.

“At least tell me if you’re still there...” she prompted.

“I am,” he confirmed. “For a minute.”

“Listen, it’s important that you know that I really did grow fond of you. That’s why I think we can  
help each other out. I know you’re being hounded by reporters. The way to squash all of this is to  
talk. You can talk to me. You know I’ll present your story in the best light.”

Ian laughed sardonically, in disbelief that Connie could have such an insane level of delusion and  
such a set of balls. “You can’t be serious.”

“Oh, don’t be like that,” she chided. “This is business and we can both benefit from an a well-thought out arrangement.”

“It was business when I was training you,” Ian stated.

“I want you to think about it.”

“I....” Ian began, biting his tongue to hold back what he really wanted to say. He was sick of being  
nice to people who were trying to take advantage of him. He’d lived under the veil of guilt for too  
long. From Margaret and Sean to Theo and the dozens of reporters who didn’t stop trying to get their  
story, Ian had somehow felt indebted to them all. To be kind. To be courteous. Because he was the  
one who got himself into the situation. In some ways it felt like penitence to endure it with contrition.  
But not anymore. “I want you to fuck off. You’re the worst kinda person. D’you know that? The  
kind that makes people believe you’re not bad while you’re working against them in some kinda  
way.”

“I’m not working against you!” Connie cried. “I want to work with you to get the story out.”

“People only give a shit about the story because we’re goddamn homos and people’ll look for any  
reason to keep a gay man outta of ice. If an old ass senator dated some chick who was a stripper in  
the past, people would say some boys will be boys shit.”

“Right!” Connie exclaimed. “This is great. This is what the people want to hear.”

“The people can suck my dick. I don’t owe them anything and that’s exactly what I’m gonna give  
them...” he paused to add, “and you.”

With that, he ended the call. His heart was beating fast as he considered the possible ramifications  
for his actions, but for the first time in a long that he felt free. Free from the chains he put on himself  
and the punishment he welcomed because he thought he deserved it. Without another thought—or  
fear of I-told-you-sos—Ian called his husband.

“You were right,” Ian stated as soon as Mickey picked up.

“Ooo are we talking dirty right now? Gonna have a little phone fuckin’?”  
Ian laughed despite himself.

“So Ms. Glorious Glutes is a snake?”

“Yup. A viper,” Ian confirmed.

“Shit. Sorry, man.”

“It’s whatever. I told her of .”

“Oh yeah?” Mickey asked, sounding just as amused as Ian knew he’d be. “What’d she think about  
that?”

“I don’t think she liked it.”

“And how ‘bout you? Did you like it?”

“I did,” Ian grinned. “It felt real good to tell someone to finally tell someone fuck of .”

“Other than me...” Mickey teased. “You ain’t shy about telling me of .”

“You like it.”

“Don’t hate it. Like to know you still got some balls in there.”

“You know that better than anyone,” Ian remarked. “Check on ‘em daily.”

“Just doing my part.”

“Seriously, though. I’m glad you told me not to meet up with her. It was bad enough over the phone.  
I can’t imagine how much worse it would’ve been in person.”

“You would’ve been fine, Ian. You don’t give yourself enough credit. Used to give yourself too  
much, now...not even close.”

“Too much, huh?” Ian chuckled. “Thank you.”

“For what?” Mickey wondered, sounding slightly distracted by a radio Ian could hear in the  
background.

“I don’t know, believing in me.”

“Oh, I’ll always believe in your ability to be an asshole, babe.”

“I mean it,” Ian said softly. “Sometimes it’s hard to remember who I was before all of this  
happened. You remind me.”

“I love you,” Mickey stated. “You know that.”

“Believe me, I do. Make me feel it everyday, even when I worry you shouldn’t.”

“It’s a good thing you’re always wrong.”

Grinning, Ian replied. “I love you. And I love that you’re right about shit.”

“Do you?”

“I mean, it’s good for me. I just need to listen to you more often.”

“Fuck. You’re turning me on, Gallagher.”

“Milkovich,” Ian corrected.

“I feel like I’m talking to myself.”

“If I were you I’d turn myself on too.”

“Okay fuck of ,” Mickey laughed. “I gotta go. Love you.”

“I love you more.”

And Ian was sure that was at least one thing he was right about.

Chapter Thirty-Three: Sam and Moe Get Hitched  
TW: Talk of death

Despite the fact that he teared up like a motherfucker at his own, Mickey wasn’t one to cry at  
weddings. Most of the time he did everything he could to get out of going to them—unless of course  
he was catering one—but Sam and Tim’s nuptials were different in so many ways. Not only did  
Mickey feel nostalgic and sorta emotional as his friends exchanged their vows, he was really happy  
to be there, to be one of Tim’s groomsmen, to be a part of it all. The good vibes were flowing as  
freely as the alcohol and by mid-reception Mickey was high on both. And that’s how he found  
himself dancing with his husband. It wasn’t the first time they’d danced, but that didn’t mean they  
made a habit of it. The rare act had to be fueled by intoxication and euphoria with the first not  
leading to the second because that level of bliss already existed.

“Baby,” Ian crooned, yanking Mickey in closer as they swayed on the dance floor. If there was any  
place for two dudes to slow dance and feel good about it, it was a gay wedding.

“What?” Mickey asked, knowing exactly what was on his man’s mind. Ian’s hands held tight to his  
hips as his teeth bit into Mickey’s lower lip.

“So fucking hot.”

That was another thing Mickey liked about the few times they’d danced, it was amazing foreplay.  
Mickey hummed, slipping his tongue into Ian’s mouth for a kiss.

They made out until the slow song segued into a upbeat pop number. For a moment, Mickey  
considered gesturing for Ian to follow him to their table, but he decided against it, leaning into what  
was already happening between them.

“Oh yeah?” Ian grinned, obviously surprised by the way Mickey continued to move to the music.

“Look at you, baby.”

While he wasn’t in full-blown Fairytail mode, Mickey was definitely giving more of a thug bounce  
than he usually did. As much as he didn’t want Ian to make a big deal about it, he liked that he did.  
He liked the way Ian’s eyes were burning with desire for him, the way his husband’s paws were all  
over him, the fact that his slight movements could get the redhead so turned on. He wondered if that  
was how Ian felt when he was go-go dancing. He wondered if he’d looked at Ian the same way.

“Love the way you move,” Ian complimented, letting his lips rest on Mickey’s earlobe. “Reminds me  
of what you do in bed.”

Mickey laughed because the statement was absurd. He fucked his husband like he was a top, even  
from the bottom. Whatever low key dance he was doing didn’t compare to the work he put in  
between the sheets. “Do you way better than this when we fuck.”

“But it’s the way you arch, the way you throw your ass back, let your head roll—all that shit that  
drives me crazy. I’m so hard right now.”

“I know,” Mickey noted. “Your cock is putting space between us. We fucked before we got here,”  
he reminded, loving that his husband was as horny as he was as a love-sick teenager. He didn’t  
know if it was normal for married people to want each other as much as they did when they were  
dating way back in the day, but he hoped Sam and Tim always kept the passion that had never  
waned between him and Ian. Sex wasn’t everything, but it was pretty fucking awesome to want to  
bang his man as much as he wanted to when he first laid eyes on him nearly twenty years before. It  
was even better that Ian seemed to want to fuck him more. “You’re already ready to go again?”

“I’d bend you over right here if I could,” Ian replied. “I swear, wouldn’t give a fuck who was  
watching. Want it that bad.”

“Is that right?” Mickey flirted, turning around so Ian had full access to his tuxedo clad ass. He loved  
the needy moan that came from the redhead’s mouth. There was nothing Mickey enjoyed more than  
teasing his man when he was so clearly desperate to fuck.

“Yes,” Ian promised, burying his face in Mickey’s neck as they continued to dance. “I’d sit down  
and take my cock out. Let you bounce on it like you love to.”

Mickey grinned snaking his arm up so his hand was palming Ian’s skull, fingers tangled in fire red  
hair. “You want me to bounce on it?”

“Yeah, baby, I do,” Ian groaned, trailing kisses over Mickey’s jawline. “We need to go somewhere.”

Laughing, Mickey said, “You gotta calm the fuck down.”

“How am I supposed to do that?”

“Think about the fact that we’re at our friends’ wedding.”

“I don’t care,” Ian replied—a man possessed.

“And in public.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time I fucked you in public.”

It wasn’t a lie. They’d banged everywhere from alleys, to parks and clubs. There had been so many  
years when they had nowhere to go that sometimes it shocked Mickey that they had an actual house,  
with multiple rooms to fuck in. The freedom was inconceivable in comparison to the literal and  
figurative bars they’d been trapped behind in the past.

“We can go to the bathroom,” Ian offered, rubbing his hands down the front of Mickey’s tux jacket.  
Mickey leaned his head back onto Ian’s chest and grasped onto his thighs. He knew the position  
would drive Ian wild, and he couldn’t deny that he was having a ton of fun playing with him. “We’re  
at a wedding, Ian. That would be fucked up.”

“Nobody would know,” Ian promised. “C’mon, I’ll be fast.”

Turning around so Ian could see the unimpressed arch of his eyebrows, Mickey stated, “And how’s  
that gonna be fun for me?”

“I’d make sure it was.”

Mickey knew Ian never lacked follow through but that didn’t mean he was down to get banged in  
the bathroom, not when he could edge Ian throughout the wedding and get the fucking of his life at  
home. Delayed gratification wasn’t usually his thing, but that didn’t mean that Mickey wasn’t willing  
to withhold his own pleasure strictly to torture Ian.

Catching sight of Sam sauntering toward them, hand-in-hand with his new husband, Mickey  
untwined his fingers from Ian’s and reached our to give his friends a shake.

“You hos are gonna set the fire alarm off,” Sam joked, poo-pooing Mickey’s handshake in favor of a  
hug. “Please don’t stop.”

“The fastest way to get Mickey to stop doing something cute is to point out that he was doing  
something cute,” Tim tsked, rubbing Sam’s back. “You should know that by now.”

“It’s true,” Ian confirmed, pecking Mickey on the cheek.

“I feel like a year or two from now we’re gonna be coming to you guys to ask how we keep the fire  
alive,” Sam mused.

“You gotta give us more credit than that,” Tim laughed. “How about five years?”

Sam grinned and pulled his husband in to a hearty side-hug. “Five years sounds great.”

“You probably shouldn’t be worried about that on your wedding night,” Mickey stated, unsure how  
they had anything but the moment on their minds.

“Just be obsessed with each other,” Ian suggested, as if it was the easiest advice in the world. “I’d die  
without him. There’s nobody in the world I’d rather be with, chill with, fuck, anything.”

Mickey shuddered as Ian’s allusion to death brought an onslaught of morbid thoughts to the forefront  
of his mind.

“I better die before you...” Mickey muttered.

“Absolutely not,” Ian protested. “I gotta go first.”

“So I can fucking miss you again? I don’t think so.”

“This is romantic in a really fucked up way,” Tim said slowly, looking skeptically from Mickey to  
Ian and then back again.

“That’s pretty much what people have been saying about our relationship for years,” Ian  
acknowledged.

“Well I hope people say the same about us,” Sam decided, giving Tim a goofy grin. “Make sure you  
hit the dessert bar, guys. Lots of sugar.”

Ian and Mickey nodded, waiting for the newlyweds to fuck off so they could get back to business.

“You like ‘em sweet,” Ian mused, leaning in for another kiss.

“Sure do,” Mickey agreed.

“Mmm, taste like Jack.”

Mickey held up his hands in a show of innocence. “I swear I don’t even know who the fuck that is.”

“Ooo, with the dad jokes,” Ian laughed, nuzzling his face in Mickey’s neck and doing the weird  
smelling thing he always did.

“I got a few.”

“It’s cause you’re a good dad. That’s why you got the jokes.”

“That explains your skills.”

The shocked expression on Ian’s face, broke Mickey’s heart. “You think that about me?”

“That you’re a good dad to Yev?”

Maybe he didn’t tell him enough.

“Course you are. I’ve barely been around. When he’s over, he’s with you...and he’s happy.”

“But I...” Ian began, his words cut short by a heavy sigh.

“You gotta let it go,” Mickey chided. “You’re doing all the right shit, taking the steps. Just fucking  
let it go already.”

“I’m trying, but I don’t want to forgive myself enough to let it happen again.”

“Forgive yourself enough to believe it won’t, alright?” He tussled Ian’s perfectly coiffed hair, and  
pulled his husband’s head down so he could give him a kiss. “You’re trying. That’s the best thing  
you can do.”

“You’re the best thing I can do,” Ian flirted, giving Mickey’s lips a series of pecks.

Mickey grinned. “Then you better do me the best you can when we get home.”

“Bet.”

As much as Mickey was enjoying the wedding, he was ready to fuck off. He had some important  
plans to attend to.

Chapter Thirty-Four: Forever as Foreplay

Ian and Mickey did a lot of fucking during the years they’d spent together, and Ian did a lot of  
dreaming of fucking Mickey during the years they’d spent apart. A prolonged period of time without  
being able to sleep with Mickey was something Ian never wanted to face again. It wasn’t just the fact  
that sex with Mickey was really fucking fantastic, it was that he loved being that close to his  
husband, inside him, a part of him, letting Mickey be the best part of him too.  
A lot of times things were slow, sweet, and intimate. When they were gentle, Ian could fuck Mickey  
for hours. He loved spending the night inside of him, cumming, and falling asleep connected. There  
was something comforting about the level of closeness—that they could be torn apart because they  
were finally one, just the way they always should have been. He wondered how many people were  
with people they grew up with and if they had flashbacks of early—more complicated—times in  
their relationship when they were screwing. More often than not when they were making love (or  
whatever the fuck people called it), Ian found himself becoming overwhelmed with emotion,  
thinking of all of the times he lost Mickey—all the times he deserved to, and the ones when they  
were ripped apart. Ian had made so many mistakes that it was easy to forget the place Mickey had  
been in before things got more complicated than either of them could have ever imagined they  
would. It was crazy to think of Mickey as the same scared boy Ian had fallen in love with. All the  
anger Mickey had exhibited had been systemically stripped away for years and replaced with the  
man he was always supposed to become. Would Mickey have been as amazing if he hadn’t faced the  
trials and tribulations that he’d been forced to endure from his mother, father, Ian...? There was no  
part of Ian that was proud for shaping Mickey into who he was. He didn’t take credit for the man his  
husband had become. It was the opposite. Mickey was who he was despite Ian. Every decision that  
Ian made had given Mickey the ability to step up in a way that no young kid should have ever been  
expected to. When Ian ran away, Mickey chased. When Ian forced Mickey out of the closet, Mickey  
blew the door off. When Ian was diagnosed, Mickey became a caretaker. And when Ian left Mickey  
to rot in prison, Mickey became a man who could rebuild in spite of everything that tried to destroy  
him. No matter how much Ian hated himself for what had happened, Mickey never did, which only  
confirmed what Ian already knew—his husband was a prize that nobody deserved, but that didn’t  
stop him from trying to prove his worthiness whenever possible. There was so much love between  
them that it was impossible to believe they ever could have existed apart.

Plus, Ian doubted any other guy would be able to keep up with the amount of sex that Mickey  
demanded. There was probably some psychosocial reason why Mickey needed as much play as he  
did, something about feeling needed or loved. Regardless of what the impetus was, it was fun as fuck  
—and difficult as hell—to keep Mickey satisfied. They got into their fair share of kinky shit. Ian  
loved how unapologetic Mickey was about demanding what he wanted and advocating for what  
he’d liked. For better or worse, he’d never forget the day that Mickey presented him with a string of  
huge anal beads. He may not have had the chance to use them, but Ian remembered being floored  
that the tough thug was into that level of ass play. It was incredible that that was only the tip of the  
iceberg with how much Mickey liked to be anally stimulated. If Ian had been good at sharing, he  
would’ve brought another guy into the bedroom to double penetrate his needy bottom, but since  
there was no way that he would let another dick near his man’s ass, they used dildos to get Mickey  
really full. He’d started with something small, which didn’t have he intended effect and quickly  
learned that Mickey could take a whole lotta cock very eagerly. He’d spread his cheeks and get on  
top of Ian and the piece, riding like he was on a goddamn racehorse. It was stupid hot, and Ian was  
grateful for the dildo considering how fast he blew when Mickey mounted up. He’d laugh when  
Mickey called him a “fucking pussy,” but also worried that it would be impossible to feed his  
husband’s appetite. He had the size, there was denying that, but Mickey was a size queen like he’d  
never met before. The toys he had confirmed that Ian was definitely not the biggest dick he’d taken.  
He had at least five more that put Ian to shame. And everything about it made Ian want to be the best  
lover he could be for Mickey. The sexual aspect and several other reasons were why he was so  
terrified of a low swing. They’d gone months without sex, be it because Ian was too depressed to  
even consider touching Mickey or because the medication took a toll on his tool. He didn’t feel the  
guilt until after he broke out of the overwhelming haze that bipolar depression put him in, but when  
things finally became more lucid, Ian would feel guilty for not tending to his husband’s needs. On his  
worst days he’d fear that Mickey could go to someone else to get them met—even though in his right  
mind he was sure that Mickey was the most loyal motherfucker to ever live. Still, Ian would  
admonish himself for not being able to give Mickey the bare minimum of what he deserved. Mickey  
would tell him he was an idiot for even considering something as base as sex during the dark days,  
but Ian was never delusional enough not to see how important sex was to both of them. It was the  
way they’d communicated before they were able to use their words, their lips. It was the thing that  
connected them for years when nothing else felt safe enough. Ian knew what made Mickey cum long  
before he understand what made him tick.

“Fuck me harder,” Mickey demanded as Ian drove into him at an exhausting pace. Though Ian  
hadn’t drank at the wedding, he had danced his ass off, which had left him more tired than he’s  
expected. “C’mon,” the brunet groaned, clearly frustrated that Ian wasn’t meeting his needs.  
Ian worked harder, thrusting his hips with the intention of shoving his dick deep into Mickey’s guts.

“Yeah, like that,” Mickey panted, jerking his cock with fervor.

The only thing hotter than having Mickey underneath him, yanking on his cock, and stating up at  
him with baby blue eyes, was having Mickey on top of him, fucking him better than anybody who  
was riding—and not delivering—a dick should have ever had the right to.

“Gonna ride you,” Mickey decided, swinging himself up so he was on top.

There as a brief moment when Ian felt like a failure because Mickey had to get himself there instead  
of laying back to enjoy an orgasm, but the moment passed while he watched Mickey bounce on his  
dick like a He was falling on fire every time he bottomed out.

“You’re so fucking hot, Mick,” Ian gasped, holding his husband’s hips as Mickey pounded away.

“Use that dick. It’s yours.”

“Fuck yeah it is. You love when I take it,” Mickey asserted, leaning forward to rest his crosses arms  
on Ian’s chest as he rode the rod. “Don’t you?”

“I love it,” Ian promised, digging his nails into the flesh pulled across Mickey’s hips. “Love you.”

“Good,” Mickey grinned, leaning back so he could give Ian a great view of his bouncing cock as he  
demolished Ian’s dick.

“D’you love me?” Ian asked, even though he knew the answer. Nobody would ever love him like  
Mickey—not because he wasn’t lovable but because his Mickey’s heart was meant to beat for Ian,  
the same way that Ian’s ticked for Mick.

“Stop asking stupid fucking questions and make me jizz,” Mickey demanded, grinning when Ian  
flipped him over and went to work.

Ian fucked Mickey harder harder than he thought was humanly possible and smiled as his husband  
practically seizured through a steady succession of multiple orgasms.

“Holy shit,” Mickey cried, grabbing onto Ian’s back as a means to ground himself. The pride Ian  
experienced as Mickey came apart below him was as immense as the love that flooded his heart  
when Mickey puckered his full lips, an obvious indication that he wanted his kisses.  
Ian happily delivered, loving how the passion between them could get him higher than any drug has  
ever had the ability to. If there was one safe addiction to have, it was a reliance on a man who would  
never let him down. “You like that?”

“So good,” Mickey complimented, pulling on Ian until he rested his weight on Mickey’s still  
spasming body. “Fuck, I can’t believe I get you for life, man.”

Ian wiggled his nose against Mickey’s ear before tugging on the lobe gently with his teeth. “There’s  
nobody luckier than me.”

“I’m lucky that you’re dumb enough to think that,” Mickey teased, turning his head so that they  
could see each other’s eyes. “That’s the big win for me.”

“You’re the big win for me,” Ian corrected. It was true. Mickey was his best achievement and the  
most profound prize he would ever be awarded.

Mickey didn’t respond with words, tucking his arms under Ian’s armpits instead—holding on tight as  
if Ian would leave if he didn’t. It was an unnecessary action considering Ian’s happy obsession with  
the man he would never part from. He’d been stupid before. Never again.

Forever was just foreplay.

Chapter Thirty-Five: Just Like Them

Mickey squinted as he walked through the dark alley, attempting to make out the figure that stood  
just far enough away from him to be unrecognizable. He saw the red and yellow embers falling from  
the cigarette before recognizing the mouth that the filter was being raised to. As he moved in closer,  
Mickey appreciated the way that the traffic lights just beyond the brick wall that Ian was leaning on  
cast colors on milky white skin. He was beautiful, his red hair catching every particle of light as a  
smile spread across his perfect face. Nobody could put that smile on Ian’s face but Mickey. That was  
his was smile. The first in Ian’s catalog and the one that Mickey worked hard to keep there. The  
goofy smile of a first and only love.

Sometimes he liked seeing Ian from a distance, appreciating him like a piece of art, rather than  
understanding him as the flesh and complicated blood Mickey had always loved. Ian had always  
been his dream-boy, that had never changed even though both of them had. He wondered if the  
butterflies that fluttered up a frenzy in his stomach whenever he saw Ian would eventually fuck off.  
They should have been long gone years ago, but just like their love, they’d sustained...multiplied in a  
way that should have been unnerving, but instead it was safe. Because nothing had to be in control  
when it came to Ian, nothing could be and that was okay. They were okay.

“Took you long enough, fucker,” Ian called out, starting to jog toward him.

Mickey exhaled as Ian wrapped him in his arms, closing his eyes to relish in the moment. It had been  
a long day, full of stress that didn’t matter anymore. It was easy to compartmentalize the bad stuff at  
work, push it to the back of his mind. Maybe that was a benefit of having lived a difficult life, being  
able to recognize when shit was actually bad and not just inconvenient.  
Ian sighed burying his head into the nook of Mickey’s neck. Chuckling as Ian’s sniffs tickled his  
skin, Mickey slipped his hands into the back pocket of his husband’s jeans. “Alright, alright enough  
of that shit.”

Ian smiled knowingly before leaning in for a kiss. They made out for a moment, allowing themselves  
to get lost on the familiar street.

“Got a cigarette?” Mickey asked, once his jaw got sore from overuse.

Ian placed one between Mickey’s lips, and lit it carefully. It was the little acts of doting that made all  
of the difference for Mickey. Knowing that Ian wanted to make him as a happy as Ian made him, that  
he wanted to take care of him the way that Mickey took care of Ian. He might have never needed as  
much as husband did, but that didn’t mean that Ian didn't try to give. Though the redhead was selfish  
by nature, he’d become a giver thanks to Mickey’s nurture. And everything between them had  
eventually become more reciprocal than either of them had thought it had the capacity to be.

There were times when one or the other needed the majority of their relationship’s attention, when  
they monopolized the emotional stock, but they recognized that everything was a cycle, one that  
would end while another began—and the only thing that mattered is that they were down for the  
ride.

“Where are we going?” Mickey asked, intertwining his fingers with Ian’s when Ian took his hand.

“On a date,” Ian stated, swinging his arm a bit so Mickey had to swing his too.

“Knock it off,” Mickey chided, with no malice in his tone.

It wasn’t lost on Mickey that they were walking on Michigan Avenue like a couple of happy, dog  
owning, child raising, hand holding queens—and that he loved it.

“You knock it off,” Ian stated. “I wanna swing.”

“You better just be talking about our arms.”

“Oh, I am. I’d kill anyone who touched you.”

“I don’t know if you’re much of a killer, Milkovich,” Mickey laughed, appreciative of the sentiment.

“One of us did time for attempted murder and it wasn’t you.”

“Believe me, if some guy goes near you,” Ian mimed a slit throat. “He’s done.”

“You don’t got shit to worry about. I’m hung up on your dumbass for life.” He muttered an “excuse  
me,” to a couple who they had to squeeze past.

“You know how to keep the romance alive,” Ian teased, pecking Mickey’s cheek.

“You’re easy.”

“Hmm, is that right?”

“Yup,” Mickey smirked, loving that Ian couldn’t keep his lips off of him. First was the kiss on the  
cheek, then the lips, the tip of his nose, and his forehead.

“Someone thinks they’re getting lucky tonight...”

“Someone knows they are,” Mickey corrected. “Is dinner gonna take a while, or...?”

“You’ll want it to take a while,” Ian promised. “Gonna watch you bathe in the blood of some barely  
cooked meat.”

Mickey laughed. “Impressive. You’re really upping your kink level.”

“You bring it out in me.”

“Fucking right I do.” It was a source of pride for Mickey that nobody could ever fuck with Ian the  
way he could. He’d seen his man fall apart underneath him enough times to know that he had the  
sexual side of their relationship locked. It was the easiest facet but that didn’t mean he took it for  
granted. “Are we celebrating something that I forgot we were supposed to be celebrating?”

“Nah,” Ian replied. “I just wanted to do something different. You’ve been working so hard.”

“We both have,” Mickey added, earning another peppering of grateful kisses from Ian. “I’m not  
blowing smoke up your ass...”

“I know you’re not. That’s what makes it even better.”

Mickey grinned as Ian shoved him into the brick façade of a building. Kisses led to declarations of  
love and then devolved into a very handsy makeout session. At the rate they were going Mickey  
wondered if they’d make it to dinner or grab a cab back to the South Side before he could take his  
first bite of meat. He wouldn’t have been sad to say goodbye to the steak if it meant heading to bed  
with his husband, but Ian was determined to go on their date.

They walked another block and Ian happily opened the door of the restaurant for Mickey. It was a  
place that Mickey had never been to before, but he avoided asking Ian if that was he case for him. It  
didn’t matter either way. They were eating together.

The host sat them in a small candlelit table in the corner of the intimate dining room.  
Ian smiled at Mickey as Mickey reached across the table to hold his hands. They were in a place  
they’d never been before and they were going to make the best of it, the way they made the best of  
everything.

“You good?” Mickey asked, gazing into delighted green eyes.

“Very,” Ian promised. “I’m very good.”

Grinning at the news, Mickey kept his focus on Ian. Those eyes would be impossibly sad again one  
day, but Mickey would remember the way the flame flickered in them as Ian stared at Mickey like he  
was all that mattered. And there would be happiness, because the happiness always came back,  
stronger than before.

Just like them.


End file.
